


The Long Game

by yellowwarbler



Series: The Long Game [1]
Category: Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Enemas, Forced Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Public Sex, RasTimWeek, Temporary Character Death, Torture, threats of body modification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29461779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellowwarbler/pseuds/yellowwarbler
Summary: [canon divergence from Red Robin #12] Dick isn't there to catch Tim. Ra's sees Tim's death for what it really is: opportunity.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Ra's al Ghul
Series: The Long Game [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205756
Comments: 41
Kudos: 121
Collections: Ra'sTim Week 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ra'sTim Week Day One: forced/arranged marriage
> 
> I finished this about a month ago and have been sitting on it ever since which was killer lol. It got long, so I'm posting it in 7 parts, one per day. The tags as they are listed are for the ENTIRE fic and shouldn't change, but if someone sees something I missed please let me know.
> 
> Thanks goes to [xavierurban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/pseuds/xavierurban) for beta reading this monster for me!

"I should have kept you closer," Ra's says. "I blame myself. Really, Timothy, if I'd had any idea the extent of your rebellious nature, I would have put you under my thumb from the very beginning."

Tim's head falls listlessly to the side. The pattern on the carpet, a deep red with swirls of gold, seems to come alive at his feet, like flames licking at his toes. The sound of Ra's' voice warps and bends.

Ra's continues. "But in the end, you're where you belong. I suppose we can both take solace in that." 

Tim tries to look up at him, but his eyes can't seem to focus. Ra's' face is a blur of color. Something moves closer and touches him. Ra's' hand, Tim thinks. He's touching Tim's face. His fingertips feel like burning coals. Tim groans and tries to turn away, but the feather light touch turns into a solid grip.

"To have come so far and accomplished so little," Ra's murmurs. "It must pain you."

Tim squints. He opens his mouth and catches one of Ra's' fingers and bites down.

Ra's laughs. "Still spirited? Even now?" His face is closer, coming into focus. He's younger again, the aged lines smoothing out at the corners of his eyes. His hair is dark, black with only a hint of silver. Tim's mind grasps for the meaning behind all of this and comes up short.

"It's a pity the drugs are necessary. I want to know what's going on in that head of yours. Are you afraid? Angry?" Ra's releases Tim's jaw and brushes his bangs from his eyes. "Or perhaps you've accepted the inevitable." He pauses as though waiting for a response. Then, "It matters not. In time, every piece of you will be as an open book before me, Timothy. I'm a patient man. We have all the time in the world."

Tim feels his eyes slipping shut. The soft haze curling around him like smoke thickens, blotting out the colors of the room and tugging him under into darkness. 

When he opens his eyes again, he's looking up at a stone ceiling. It's sliding past him like a conveyor belt. Or maybe he's the one who's moving. He tries to lift his hand but only manages to twitch his fingers.

"Nnghh," he manages to say. 

"He's awake again."

"Doesn't matter. We've got our orders."

Tim doesn't recognize the voices. He can't get his head and neck to cooperate. He sees nothing but the stone.

He drifts under again. It feels like he closes his eyes only to open them seconds later, but the stone ceiling is gone. In its place are bright lights and white tiles. It's so bright Tim flinches and whimpers. 

A hand touches his shoulder. "I didn't think you'd wake up in time without assistance."

Ra's. Tim's body is looser now. He can roll his head from side to side. He can look at the figure standing at his side, at the broad hand on his shoulder and the green-clad arm stretching upward. 

"I wanted you here," Ra's is saying. "Such a pivotal moment for us. The beginning, really. You'll see, in time, how necessary this was." He leans down. Tim's eyes cross trying to follow the movement, but he feels lips press against his forehead.

_This isn't right_ , he thinks. A cold trickle of panic seeps through the haze. He needs to move. He needs to get up and run because something bad is about to happen. He can feel it.

He lets out another sound, something wordless and afraid. Ra's shushes him, stroking his hair. "Be calm, Timothy."

Footsteps echo, the clamor of voices.

"He's awake," someone says. "We need to get him back under. Get me fifty cc--"

"No," Ra's snaps. The room goes silent. "No more drugs. Finish your preparations." Then he turns his attention back to Tim. "I will be here with you. There's no need to be afraid."

Tim is about ninety nine percent certain there's a fantastic reason to be afraid, even if he doesn't know what it is. Ra's stands at Tim's head and holds the sides of his face. Tim can feel someone fixing restraints on his arms and legs and across his hips. He starts to shake, his mouth going dry and cottony.

"Sir," a voice says. "If--if he's awake--" 

"He will remain awake. Proceed."

Something heavy is being moved on wheels. Tim can hear the faintest squeak as whatever it is locks in place. The clatter of metal. The smell of antiseptic.

"I've seen my own death many times over. It's changed me, as it will change you." Ra's smiles down at Tim. "It's one of many experiences I intend for us to share."

Tim feels liquid well up at the corners of his eyes and then spill down the sides of his face. He doesn't understand. He can't remember how he got here.

He wants to go _home_.

Something cold touches his mouth. Tim tries to turn away, but Ra's holds him steady. _Mouth prop_ , Tim's mind supplies. Once in place, he hears a series of metal _clanks_ as it's ratcheted open wider. 

The thin shirt Tim is wearing is cut open. He feels something wet slide across his belly. "Ready to proceed."

"Begin," Ra's says. He never looks away from Tim, the eerie green of his eyes boring down at him. 

The first cut is so surprising Tim doesn't quite realize what's happening. Then he feels the second, feels gloved hands pry the skin of his chest open, peeling it away from the bone. He lets out a choking sound, jerking against the restraints. The pain feels like an intense chill at first, sweeping over him and leaving him breathless.

They keep digging. Tim thrashes and screams, his back arching against the table. Hands grab at him from all angles, pressing him back down. It hurts. It _burns_.

He's going to die. He knows it. Ra's is looking down at him, satisfied, never flinching away. Tim blacks out. 

He sees things unfold in still frames, in echoes of distant sound: Ra's' face. A splintering crack. The hot white lights above him. Blood spilling up his throat, bubbling out of him with every breath. 

"And lift," a voice says. 

Beneath the agony, the white hot pain, Tim feels something pull taut in his chest, then snap.

It's dark. Then, all at once, it's not.

Tim's no longer in that cold white room. He's floating on a sea of green, the soft light emanating from the water, filling the dark cavern around him. It's so warm, thawing the ice inside his chest. 

There's no need to move. No need to think of what came before. 

"Welcome back, Timothy."

Tim twists in the water, his legs dropping until his toes skate along the bottom of the pool. 

Ra's stands at its edge, watching Tim with an expression he can't quite place. Something soft. It's wrong on Ra's' face. 

"To emerge from the Pit with a sound mind is something few are capable of. But I knew. You're capable of that and so much more."

Tim stares up at him. Ra's? And...a Lazarus Pit. What's Tim doing here? He woke up in the water. Where had he been before?

A flash of light. The smell of antiseptic. His own blood choking him. Hands digging into his chest.

Tim remembers. He wishes he didn't.

"What did you do to me?" His voice echoes in the cavern, startling him. He can't remember the last time he heard himself speak.

"I remade you, Timothy. Elevated you to my status." Ra's holds out a hand. "Come. There's much for us to discuss."

Tim doesn't take his hand, but he does scramble out of the water. It sluices off him, spilling over the stone ground. Without the natural warmth of the Pit, Tim is painfully aware of his own nudity. "I want to leave." 

Ra's removes his robe and drapes it over Tim's shoulders. "And go where?"

"My home," Tim says. He feels...off. Like he's drugged still. He wants to go to sleep. He wants to run away.

Ra's puts his hands on Tim's shoulders and guides him toward a staircase built into the wall of the cavern. Two of Ra's' masked assassins stand guard on either side of it.

"This _is_ your home now. But enough of that," Ra's speaks louder when Tim opens his mouth, his grip on Tim's shoulders tightening. "I have a gift for you, Timothy."

Tim is shivering beneath the weight of Ra's' robe. His wet feet slap loudly against the hard ground. Ra's' guards follow them a few paces behind. No doubt the compound, whichever one it is, is filled with assassins. Tim's not getting out of this easily.

He still can't remember how he got here. 

"Something important…."

"And what would that be?" Ra's guides him down another hall.

"Before," Tim says. His head hurts. The more he tries to think, the worse it gets. It feels like his brain is repeatedly slamming a door shut on him. "There's something…" Then his stomach growls loudly, cutting him off. 

Ra's laughs. "It's been some time since you ate. A meal will do you good. Perhaps we'll take a detour." He snaps something in Arabic to the guards. One of them bows and melts into the shadows.

Tapping the wall, Ra's opens a hidden door and tries to lead Tim inside, but it's dark. Tim doesn't know why, but he doesn't want to go in there. He plants his feet on the ground and struggles backward, but he's weak. Ra's doesn't let up, grabbing Tim around the waist and putting him bodily into the darkness. 

The door closes behind them. Tim freezes. But barely a second passes before something flickers and a long line of flames spark to life, stretching into the darkness before them and illuminating the corridor. Another door is at the end. 

Tim feels foolish.

"You're disoriented," Ra's says, making excuses for him. "I remember well how unsteady my own mind was after the Pit first spared me. You will adjust, in time."

Adjust to _what_ , Tim wants to know, but he can't seem to get the words out. His legs shake. As much as Ra's' arm around Tim's waist is unwanted, Tim finds himself clinging back just to remain upright.

_Assess the situation_ , he tells himself, allowing Ra's to lead him down the corridor and through the next door. _Remember your training. You can get out of this._

On the other side of the door, the air is even colder. With every step, it feels like they're going down, deeper underground. Eventually they reach a heavy wooden door decorated with ornate golden whorls. Ra's nods over his shoulder. Tim startles when one of the guards steps ahead of them to unlock the door, then his face burns red. He'd completely forgotten about him.

So much for remembering his training…

Ra's dismisses the guard and leads Tim inside, kicking the door closed behind them. The room is warm and open, a fire burning in the grate at the foot of the biggest bed Tim has ever laid eyes on. The walls are lined with bookshelves, all of them packed to the brim, and in the corner sits a small wooden table with two chairs. Ra's bypasses the chairs and takes Tim to the bed, helping him to sit on the edge.

Tim wrestles out of his grip, holding the robe closed. "It's cold," he says, ignoring the way Ra's lingers at his side. "Any chance I can get some actual clothes?"

"Your mind must be coming back to you. Good." Ra's sits at his side. His thigh presses against Tim's. "I've sent for a servant to bring clothes and food. But more importantly, I have something for you."

Tim fails to see how anything could be more important than clothes, but he knows he needs to bide his time, figure out what Ra's' plan is. As the disorientation fades, it becomes increasingly clear that he was dead. Ra's brought him back. But for what purpose? And what was he doing before he died? It's all a frustrating blank.

Ra's stands and walks to the fireplace. He touches the wall in a pattern Tim instantly memorizes, and a drawer pops out. Ra's reaches inside and pulls out a small wooden tray with raised bronze handles.

"It seems the right time." He presents the tray to Tim. 

Tim glances from the tray to Ra's' impassive face and back again. On the tray sits a little blue box. The edges are worn, frayed. Ra's doesn't seem the type to let his belongings fall into disarray, so Tim can only assume whatever this is doesn't belong to him or is so old it can't be properly maintained.

"What is it?" 

"See for yourself." How vague. 

Tim doesn't understand what the catch is. What the hell does Ra's want him to do? Other than pick up the box, Tim couldn't begin to guess.

So he picks it up. He almost tries to open it when he realizes the box isn't actually a box. "Huh." The sides where the top should lift are sealed. "A puzzle box," Tim murmurs. If the top is a trick, then perhaps….

He slides his hand along the bottom until his fingers catch on a panel. He presses, and the back of the box pops open. Inside lies a string of gold stones. Tim lifts it, watching the light from the fire play off the gold. "I'm not sure it's my color," he tries. He had to say something. The sheer strangeness of the moment is strangling Tim. 

"I expected it," Ra's says, his voice low. His gaze is distant, directed at the stones but falling somewhere far away. "But to know, to be _certain_...." he shakes his head. "I intended to give you a gift, but what I've received in turn is beyond compare."

The hair on the back of Tim's neck stands on end as a chill races over him. "You're not making any sense," Tim says, "even for you. Senility finally kicking in?"

But Ra's pays no mind to Tim's terrified babbling. He takes the string of stones from Tim's hands and straightens it, holding it up. "I'll have them remade in silver," he says, almost to himself. He drapes the stones over the crown of Tim's head and adjusts it so the largest falls over his forehead. "But for now, I ask that you indulge me."

To hell with biding his time. Tim grabs the stones and tears them off, throwing them at the wall. "What the hell is going on here, Ra's?! What did you do? I need to get out of here, I need--"

And all at once it hits him. Tam, the League, the Council of Spiders, Ra's' attempted takeover. Dick finally believing him about Bruce. 

Falling.

The air races out of Tim's lungs. Ra's killed him. He's killed Tim _twice_.

Tim rears back and kicks out at Ra's, flipping off of the bed. Ra's grabs his ankle and pulls, sending Tim's face slamming into the ground. The pain nearly makes him black out, his ears ringing, but he doesn't stop. He manages to pull his leg free and scrambles across the floor.

_Get to the door. Just get to the fucking door_ \--

But Ra's is faster, stronger. Tim is still disoriented, struggling with the tide of his emotions. He's on Tim's back immediately, bracketing Tim's hips with his thighs. He grabs a fistful of Tim's hair and jerks him back before slamming him face first into the floor again.

"I told you before, I won't make the same mistake twice!" Ra's shouts. His voice is too loud, pounding in time with Tim's throbbing head. "You've always been too independent. And I was far too lenient with you. Look what happened! But not again. _Never_ again."

"Stop," Tim groans. His voice comes out nasally and wet. His nose feels broken. He tries to crawl across the floor, to escape, but Ra's pins him in place. He flips the bottom of the robe up, and Tim feels the cold air of the room against his bare skin like a slap.

For a moment, Tim can't move. He's frozen, a terror unlike anything he's ever known opening up within him, a yawning chasm. Then he hears Ra's spit. A glob of wetness hits his ass.

Tim starts screaming. "Get off of me! Get _off_!" He kicks his legs and thrashes, but it doesn't stop Ra's from getting a spit-soaked finger into the cleft of his ass, stroking it over and over until Tim's hole softens. He shoves it in, spearing Tim open, and Tim goes rigid.

"You belong here," Ra's tells him, pulling his finger out. Tim hears him spit again, feels Ra's rearrange himself over Tim's back. His cock rests against Tim's hole. "I won't let you go this time. Your foolishness ends _now_."

He rolls his hips forward, and Tim feels it breach him. He's never--he hasn't had the opportunity to--

It isn't supposed to be like this.

Ra's rocks into him, seating himself fully. He gets his arms around Tim and sits back, dragging his limp body off the ground and into his lap.

Tim's head is fuzzy, his vision whiting out. He can feel himself bouncing up and down, can feel the width of Ra's inside him, the heat burning him. His head lolls back onto Ra's' shoulder, and Ra's buries his face into Tim's neck. 

"Never again," Ra's is saying, panting against Tim. His arms are pinning Tim's in place.

Tim has never felt weaker. When he starts to black out this time, the only fear he has is knowing he'll eventually wake up again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to xavierurban for beta reading!

When Tim wakes up, one of his eyes is so swollen he can't open it. His head pounds, the intensity of it rolling his stomach. He jerks to the side and retches, saved from falling off the bed by the chains on his left arm. When there's nothing left in his gut, he flips back onto his back, breathing shakily. He tugs at the chain, but it holds tight. 

The fire is out. The room is dark. For one terrifying moment, Tim is sure Ra's is in there with him, hiding in the shadows. His breathing picks up, whistling in and out of his broken nose. 

Aside from the pounding of his heart and the sound of his own frantic breathing, the room is silent. He's alone.

Tim drifts in and out of consciousness. There aren't any windows in the room, so even when he comes to, he can't tell what time it is or how long it's been. All he knows is that it's unbearably cold where he lays naked on the bed, his entire body aches, and he desperately needs to urinate.

Closing his eyes again, Tim tries to use one of the breathing exercises Bruce taught him. He needs to calm down, to _think_. What does he actually know about the situation?

He knows Ra's has him, has already killed him twice. He's deep underground in one of Ra's' strongholds that Tim didn't manage to destroy.

He also knows Ra's has apparently _lost his goddamn mind_.

Flashes of Ra's attacking him, of the way he'd used Tim's body, flicker across his mind like a film reel. He can feel the ghost of Ra's' hands on him, a burning ache in his hips and ass. Tim lets his arm fall across his eyes, trying to breathe through the sudden urge to cry. There's no time for crying. He has to find a way out. He needs to find out if Dick really believed him. If Dick didn't, if he was just humoring Tim, then Bruce is still lost in the timestream. Tim has to save him. He _has_ to.

The sound of the door opening sends a jolt through Tim. He sits up in a rush, wincing as his damaged body protests. 

When he sees it isn't Ra's, Tim lets himself relax a fraction.

A man in drab gray robes carrying a deep wooden tray steps inside the doorway and kneels, bowing toward Tim until his forehead touches the floor. Then he sits back on his haunches, unmoving, holding what must be a heavy burden on his outstretched arms. He is careful not to look directly at Tim.

Tim curls inward, sitting with his knees up to protect what's left of his modesty. The man, presumably a servant, doesn't seem interested in Tim's naked body. He doesn't seem interested in anything, really. He's holding so still he might as well be a statue.

Craning his neck, Tim can see food on the tray. Whatever hunger he felt when Ra's brought him into the room is long gone in the face of what's been done to him. But…

Tim rattles the chain connecting his arm to the bed. "Can you help me?" he asks. "I need to--" He breaks off, humiliated. "Is there a bathroom?"

The man stands and carries the tray over. He sets it on the bed and smiles at Tim, gesturing for him to take it.

English isn't going to work then. Tim eyes the food warily, then turns his attention back to the man. Arabic isn't his strong suit, but Tim's spent enough time with the League in the last year to have picked up some of the local dialect. In stumbling words, he manages to get the point across. The man's face alights with understanding, and he crouches down, pulling a large deep pot from under the bed. 

As he straightens, Tim catches a glint of metal on the man's belt. A knife, maybe. Or even a key?

Tim doesn't give him a chance to move away. He hooks a leg out and drags the man in, slamming the heel of his palm against his head. The man goes limp, face hitting the soft mattress. Tim uses his legs to drag him fully onto the bed. He scrabbles at the fabric pooling at the man's waist until he finds the metal object.

It _is_ a knife. Tim grabs it, triumphant, and looks at where the lock sits against his wrist. Then he frowns. There _isn't_ a lock, not really. The brace is a thick black metal with what looks like a thumb print scanner set in the center against the inside of his wrist.

"Shit," Tim bites out. No. _Think_. There's always another option. He examines the chain, looking for weaknesses. Then his gaze travels to the wooden bedpost the chain is looped around.

_There_.

The bed itself is solid enough, but the post is a separate piece. If he can just dislodge it from the base…

Tim works at where the post slats into the headboard with the knife, sawing until the wood splinters. He wrenches the post out, and the chains fall to the bed in a pool of metal. 

"Clothes," Tim mutters. "Shoes…" He doesn't know how long he's been here or what season it is. He doesn't even know where _here_ is. Tim slides off the bed and drops to his knees with a wince. Now that he isn't lying down, he can't decide what's worse: the pain in his head or how fucking bad he needs to piss. Glancing frantically at the door, Tim makes use of the chamber pot and then pulls the servant's robe and trousers off, dressing hurriedly. The man's shoes are soft-soled, not meant for more than walking around indoors, but Tim still takes them. 

He doesn't have time for anything else. Ra's could return at any moment. Gathering up the chains, Tim heads to the door and presses his ear to it.

Silence. Not a footstep can be heard in the corridor outside of the room. Swallowing against the knot of anxiety in his throat, Tim opens the door. 

It's well-lit, at least, rather than the darkness he remembers. Tim looks right, then left, and decides to go in the opposite direction he came in.

The air is cold and stagnant in the hall. When Tim touches the dark stone of the walls, he jerks his hand back, hissing at the icy burn. It must be winter wherever they are. Or perhaps just an area that's cold year round? Tim needs answers, not more questions, but luck doesn't seem to be in his favor today.

The dim lighting offered by the torches lit every ten or so feet isn't enough for Tim to make out much detail farther ahead, especially with only one eye at his disposal. Every step forward is mimicked by the racing beat of his heart, his gut churning with abject terror at the thought of Ra's catching him. Of him putting his hands on Tim again.

_Everything's going to be fine_ , he soothes himself. _I've gotten out of worse than this. Just keep moving._

He finally reaches a narrow staircase that leads up at a sharp angle. Up, as far as Tim is concerned, is a good thing. He takes the stairs at a cautious speed, ears straining for any sounds that might indicate he isn't alone. 

Tim knows it's only a matter of time before he comes across someone. With any luck, it won't be an entire squadron of guards.

The stairs end at the next floor, a well-lit open area. Pausing on the top step, Tim can hear the full thud of a body hitting the ground, the sharp echo of blades meeting. He must be near a training area. 

Keeping the chains pressed tight to his chest to avoid rattling them, Tim walks silently, sticking close to the wall. There has to be another door, an exit of some kind. He can't be _that_ far underground. It's much warmer on this level, too, which Tim takes as the first good sign he's seen all day.

From just behind him, Tim hears the soft _sntch_ of a latch uncatching. He spins on his heel just in time to see a panel from the wall open and a group of men step out.

The men are unmasked and sweat-soaked, coming straight from training. They see Tim immediately, the foremost of them shouting and pointing. Tim swings out with the chain and catches him across the side of his face. He stumbles back and takes the man behind him down in a tangle of swearing limbs.

Tim doesn't stick around to fight. He turns and tears off, caution and subtlety cast into the wind.

_Out_ , his mind chants. _Get out, get out, get OUT_ \--

The thunder of footsteps from behind him drives Tim on, faster and more desperate. He must be close to an exit. He just needs to keep moving--

A panel in the wall opens just a few feet before him, catching him off guard. Tim slams into the open door and ricochets to the ground with a curse. He tries to spring to his feet, but hands are on him, grasping at both his arms and patting down his sides, searching for weapons. Tim feels the echo of Ra's in those hands and tries to twist away, frantic. He can't do it again. He _can't_.

His legs are grabbed. The men hoist him up as though he's stretched out on a cot and carry him in the direction he was running. Tim curses at them, screams, but they don't even look at him. The end of the chain drags alongside the procession, rattling and clanging against the hard ground.

They're approaching an enormous set of gold-plated doors, and somehow Tim knows Ra's is on the other side. 

"You've been busy, I see."

Tim can't wrestle free of the grip the guards have on him. He cranes his neck up enough to glimpse Ra's sitting on an ornate wingback embroidered in shades of green. He towers above the men standing below him, elevated on a wooden dais. The guards lower Tim's legs and force him to kneel on the ground, his head bowed.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Tim tries to look up, but his head is shoved down again by the hand gripping his hair. It stings, exacerbating the wounds from the night before. Pain is something Tim can deal with, though. Ra's can hurt him all he wants. But the other…

A shiver steals down Tim's spine. He can stand torture. It's Ra's' _method_ of torture that so unnerves him.

"You can't keep me here forever," Tim finally bites out, proud of the way his voice doesn't waiver. "Batman and the others know I'm missing. They'll come for me."

"Do they?" Ra's laughs, entirely unconcerned with such a distant threat. "Well, let your false Batman and his failure of a student come. _If_ they've noticed. I wouldn't hold onto that hope."

Tim's stomach twists with doubt. What if they don't come? What if he's been right all along and Dick didn't believe him, doesn't care if he's missing? What if they're all just relieved to be free of such a burden--

_No._ He can't let himself think like that. It's what Ra's wants. Tim needs to stay focused.

"I see." Ra's clicks his tongue, dissatisfied, and snaps an order in Arabic. Tim suffers a moment of cognitive dissonance where he thinks _so that's where Damian gets that from_ before reality comes crashing back to him.

The guards tug at his clothes. They've got the robe off, have Tim stripped to just the shoes and trousers, before what they're doing actually sinks in enough for Tim to start fighting.

"Stop it!" He struggles against the hands grabbing at him. Tim rears back and manages to slam his head into one of their faces before he's shoved down, his chest and forehead collapsing into the ground. He screams against the plush red carpet, thrashing, but it doesn't stop them from jerking his trousers down in a sick parody of the way Ra's bared him the night before. They grab his legs and hold him still, prying the shoes off his feet and tugging the trousers off where they pool around his ankles.

"You're sick!" Tim hears himself shrieking, body writhing to get away from the hands holding him in place. "You're out of your fucking mind!"

But Ra's pays him no heed. He orders something again that Tim doesn't understand, and he's once more lifted in the air, facing the ground. His soft cock dangles between his thighs. He struggles in vain as he's placed belly-down over Ra's lap. The chain still attached to his left wrist is used to bind both of his arms to the legs of the chair on one side. His legs are bound to the opposite side, pinning him down.

Tim feels a hand stroke down the length of his back and settle on the curve his ass, squeezing. He tries to jerk away, but the chain allows no room, no give. He's well and truly trapped.

"I meant what I said," Ra's' voice is a low murmur, the words for Tim and Tim alone. "I will do whatever is necessary to keep you safe this time, even if that means keeping you safe from yourself. If breaking your spirit is what it takes, I will gladly do so. And you will thank me for it...in time."

"You're not making any sense," Tim snaps, hating the sob choking his words. "I don't need you to-- _nnhhhg_!"

Ra's' hand slaps down on Tim's ass, echoing in the sudden silence of the room. Tim cries out when he hits him a second time, harder, and can't stop himself from squirming against Ra's, seeking an escape that isn't possible.

In the pause between blows, Tim hears the low murmur of conversation and laughter, and his face bleeds red. Ra's' men are still there. They're watching their master spank him like an unruly child, and they're _laughing_.

"You're very pale now," Ra's observes, squeezing Tim's reddened ass. "But I do so enjoy the way my handprint lingers. Perhaps when you've settled down, we can explore this in a more pleasurable capacity."

"Fuck you!" Tim screams again, rage and humiliation all knotted together in his chest. "When I get out of here--"

Ra's spanks him again on the same spot, then on the other cheek. He lets his thumb dip between the cleft of Tim's ass, nudging at his hole for a brief moment. Tim goes rigid. "You will _never_ escape here." His hand leaves Tim, only to return to his hole a moment later with slick fingers. He plunges two fingers in at once, scissoring Tim open. "You will never escape _me_. You will submit to my will and cease this foolish rebellion."

Tim moans, pained, and shudders. His ass hurts from the spanking. He's mortified knowing Ra's' men are watching his debasement. Ra's' fingers keep working at his hole, spearing him open, fucking into him. He feels so full. "Please," Tim's voice breaks. His vision is watery, flooded with unshed tears. 

The fingers withdraw. "Please what?"

Tim clenches his bound hands into fists. "Please let me go," he whispers, ashamed. 

"Oh, Timothy." Ra's sounds disappointed. "I expect better from you." He spanks Tim again, hard, and the pain is so unexpected that Tim finally begins to openly cry. The blows fall faster and harder than before. Tim feels every second of it, the burn of each hit, the way his ass jiggles in between them. He hears the pathetic whimpering of his own voice, the encouraging murmurs of their audience. But most of all he feels the way Ra's' erection swells beneath him, rubbing up against his belly. 

When Ra's stops again, Tim can't calm his cries. He sobs loudly, his body trembling. Ra's squeezes his ass, shushing Tim. Then he begins rubbing at his hole. 

"Please," Tim whines, shuddering. "Not--not there, not _that_ \--"

But Ra's ignores him, feeding his fingers back into Tim. "Have you learned your lesson?" He thrusts them in deeper, glancing against something that sparks pleasure in Tim's core. He feels himself start to harden and squeezes his thighs together. 

"I have!" Tim's voice is frantic. "Please! Stop!"

But Ra's doesn't stop. He fingers Tim harder, glancing across that place inside him over and over. He keeps fucking into him, relentless, letting Tim squirm. Ra's brings his free hand down on Tim's ass one last time as he plunges inward, and Tim comes with a sob.

"You're made for this," Ra's tells him as Tim jerks and pants against him. "Made for whatever I desire you to be. Remember this lesson." Then he says something in another tongue. Tim hears a flurry of movement and then the bindings on his ankles are gone. He's shifted off of Ra's' lap and onto the ground, his arms still trapped in place.

Ra's stands up and grabs Tim, binding him back over the chair. "Your pleasure in your own punishment pleases me," he says, leaning over Tim's back to speak directly in his ear. "Allow me to show you."

Tim starts shaking, afraid. He looks back at the room, but the men are gone. He and Ra's are alone. When he looks over his shoulder, Ra's has his cock out. He's looking down at Tim's ass and stroking himself. One hand reaches out to grab one of Tim's cheeks and hold him open.

"No," Tim begs. "Please no more. Not again. It--it hurts--"

Ra's dips the head of his cock into Tim's hole, just barely breaching him. "If this is pain, then you must be quite the masochist." He thrusts home in one quick slide, forcing Tim's body open around him. 

Tim jolts forward against the arm of the chair. Ra's draws back and thrusts again, groaning loudly. "You feel perfect," he tells Tim, "even better than before. I've missed the feel of you." 

He's enormous inside Tim. Tim is afraid of the feeling, afraid Ra's will change the shape of him, leave him gaping and leaking cum. Every time Ra's bottoms out, he slams against Tim's aching and bruised ass, echoing the pain of the spanking. Tim cries again. He's not sure he ever stopped, fat tears tracking down his face and dripping onto the floor where he hangs over the edge of the chair's arm. 

When Ra's comes, Tim feels the sick warmth of it spreading inside him, filling him. He flinches, wanting to escape the feeling but being unable to do anything other than writhe against Ra's' body.

Ra's withdraws. When cum starts to dribble out of Tim, he slaps Tim's ass. "Tighten your cunt," he orders. 

Tim clenches down, humiliation rushing through him. He opens his mouth to argue, to say he doesn't have a cunt, but the words die on his tongue. He's afraid of what might follow.

"Beautiful," he hears Ra's say after a moment, dipping a finger down to rub at the clenched tight hole. "You're doing well." Then he pats Tim's hip and steps around the chair, releasing the chains. "You must be exhausted. I'll return you to my--"

But the moment Tim is free he punches Ra's, darting out of his grasp. Tim makes it off the dais before Ra's is on him, dragging him back.

But Tim can't, he can't go through that again, can't stand the feel of Ra's' hands on him and in him. So he does the only thing he can think of: "KON!" The name reverberates, echoing in the wide open room and likely beyond. Tim shouts for Kon again, and Ra's--

\--doesn't try to stop him.

He has a grip on Tim's wrists, but he's not covering his mouth. He doesn't look worried in the least.

"This compound has been lead-lined and sound-proofed since Superman made his first appearance," Ra's squeezes Tim's wrist in a painful grip, "but if it soothes you, continue screaming. I won't stop you."

Tim pants, sobbing. Beneath the terror breaking open in his chest, he feels for the first time the rise of true despair. "No…"

"No one is coming for you," Ra's enunciates carefully. "You are _home_ now. Act like--"

So Tim does the first thing that comes to mind. He spits in Ra's' face.

Ra's rears back, fury spilling across his face in a monsterous expression. He releases Tim and backhands him, sending him crashing to the ground. "This is for your own good, Sora!" he roars.

Tim stares up at him, eyes wide. Silence falls between them. "Who…" Tim swallows. He can taste blood in his mouth. "Who's Sora?"

Ra's' face goes blank. He crouches down and gathers Tim up, running a soothing hand through his hair. "The less thinking you do, the better," he tells Tim. There's a steel in his words Tim can't bring himself to argue with.

But the name, he never forgets.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [xavierurban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/pseuds/xavierurban) for beta reading!

Tim dreams of the desert every night for the next week, a wasteland with nothing but burning sun and sand and the threat of violence ever on the horizon.

When he wakes, reality isn't much kinder.

"You've been sleeping poorly."

Tim wants to jerk away from the arms wrapped around him, but his hands are bound. He still has bruises from Ra's' last lesson. Tim isn't so stupid he can't admit when he's been beaten.

Because he _has_. And it terrifies him.

He makes a non-committal sound and holds as still as possible. Ra's is hard against the small of his back. He dips his head and presses his face into the juncture where Tim's shoulder slopes up to meet his neck, mouthing gently at the skin. "I'll prepare something to add to your evening tea."

_That_ wakes Tim up. "No," he says, _pleads_. "No drugs. I'd--I don't like--" He struggles to roll over in Ra's' arms.

"What you like pales in comparison to your health." Ra's kisses him softly. "Enough. It's time to wake up, Beloved. You'll remain at my side today."

Again. Tim hasn't been left unattended since he got loose that first morning. Ra's needn't worry. Seeing what was done to the servant he'd left behind is enough to put Tim off of repeating that particular course of actions. 

Sometimes he can still hear the screams.

Tim lets Ra's' hands roam over him without complaint. He doesn't even move. If he allows it for now, Ra's will drop his guard eventually. Tim just needs to bide his time, to play the meekly cowed prisoner. Tim's already been through Hell. Ra's can't do worse than he's already done.

He feels Ra's’ cum splash across his ass, then the bed dips as he rises to his feet. Tim hears Ra's walking around the room, but he can't move. He's frozen with the feel of the mess Ra's left behind, the ache in his hips and ass that never seems to go away. There's a low grade nausea that he can't seem to shake. 

"Come, Beloved. You've been idle enough." 

Tim gives in and rolls to face Ra's. He's standing at the side of the bed with several swathes of fabric draped over his arm. A servant knocks and, on Ra's' word, opens the door.

Tim is no stranger to suffering under Ra's' keen attention at the hands of the servants. He watches the woman bring in a basin of water and cloths. Sighing, he slides out of bed and stands naked in the center of the room, attention focused on the wall. _Just let it happen_ , he tells himself. _Choose your battles. Getting dressed is not the hill I plan to die on_.

The servant removes the ropes binding his wrists and runs wash cloths dunked in warm water over Tim's body, erasing the traces Ra's left behind. When she reaches his face, it hurts less than it did when he first went through this. The swelling on his face is all but gone. His eye is still bruised but able to fully open again. He stands unflinching as she pats him dry and then takes the fabrics from Ra's.

_This_ is a little different though.

"Is...is that a dress?" Tim stares at the first layer of fabric in her arms and then twists to face Ra's. "Is that--"

"Clothing," Ra's cuts in. "Clothing fit for a woman of your station."

Tim bites his tongue. Ra's is continuing to spiral into this same mad farce. Tim can't pinpoint where it started. There was certainly no indication during his time with the League. And that name… Ra's called him Sora. He knows it's relevant. He just doesn't know _how_.

Stoically bearing yet another humiliation, Tim is glad Ra's’ madness doesn't extend to needing a full length mirror. It's bad enough he has to wear a dress. Having to look at himself in it would be salt to the wound.

The first layer is a floor-length dress in a deep green. The neckline is high and the sleeves long. A sleeveless layer of thick cream colored fabric delicately embroidered in golds and reds goes on next, followed by a sheer white piece of fabric that winds around Tim's neck and drapes down his back. A layer of long strings of gold stones and gems is the final layer, falling heavy over his chest. 

"Exquisite," Ra's says. He dismisses the servant without so much as glancing at her. "You're as beautiful as the day we met."

Considering Tim was about twelve when they first crossed paths, that's not a comforting statement.

Ra's holds something up--the string of gold from that first day. He rests it over the crown of Tim's head, eyes alight with smug satisfaction. 

Too smug. Fear inches back to the forefront of Tim's mind that this is another sick game, another opportunity for Ra's to get his hands on Tim. Hurt him. But Ra's doesn't touch him. He leads Tim out of their room and toward a long day of sitting subserviently at Ra's' side like he didn't spend months working alongside some of these men.

Humiliated isn't a strong enough word for what Tim is feeling.

Ra's offers his arm, and Tim takes it. He doesn't actually have a choice, and the illusion of it makes it worse. _I wouldn't choose you_ , Tim thinks pointedly at the side of Ra's' face. _I'd **never** choose you_.

Out loud, he says, "Where are we going?"

"Out." Ra's glances over at him. "I thought you'd enjoy some fresh air."

Excitement seizes Tim. "We're going outside?" He can't even bring himself to feel embarrassed at the high pitch of his voice. Outside means no soundproofing. He can call Kon. He can--

Ra's laughs. "Do you take me for a fool? I can assure you, seeing the sky is not in your future, my love. The air flow is simply better in the upper levels."

What the fuck. _What the fuck_. 

Tim's not sure what his face does, but Ra's grabs his chin and leans in close, all traces of good humor gone. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you to behave today. If you do need incentive, however, I'm happy to oblige."

Tim shakes his head frantically. He doesn't want Ra's touching him. He wants that hand gone.

They go up several flights of stairs, but still there's not a window in sight. How big _is_ this place? Ra's walks him toward a set of doors, but when they arrive, he doesn't motion for the guards to open them.

Instead, he holds out a hand and receives a pair of cuffs. "Hold out your hands, my love."

Swallowing, Tim complies. He can't make any rushed moves. _See what's happening. Then make a plan_. But his rational mind can't stop his heart from racing. He doesn't want to be restrained again. 

A pillow is brought out and placed against the wall opposite the door. Ra's guides Tim to kneel, then uses a separate chain to secure the cuffs to a metal hook in the wall.

"You'll wait here," Ra's says, petting Tim's hair like he's a dog. 

"Why bring me if you're just going to leave me here?" Tim looks down at his wrists. He's chained in place. If someone comes along, if they want to hurt him like Ra's did, Tim will be helpless to stop it. The urge to beg Ra's to bring Tim with him is nearly irresistible, but the shame of it… No, Tim would rather die.

Of course, Ra's doesn't bother answering him. He pets Tim's hair one last time before turning away. The guards open the door for him and then follow him in. 

_All of them_.

They leave Tim chained to the wall. Undoubtedly, there's some kind of surveillance on him, but do they think he's that helpless? Tim brings the cuffs closer to his face. Unlike the previous set, this is a simple pair that only requires a physical key to unlock. 

"Too easy," Tim mutters. It feels like a setup, but he can't worry about that now. If he gets a chance, he'll have to take it.

Opportunity comes in the form of a guard walking down the hall. He says something to Tim in a tone that suggests an insult. Tim remains completely still, but when the man is directly in front of him, he sweeps his leg out. The guard goes crashing to the ground, and before he can get his bearings, Tim slams the heel of his foot against his head. The guard goes limp.

He's close enough that Tim can reel him in with his legs. The man isn't carrying a key, but he does have a knife suitable for picking locks. Tim takes it, wasting no time, and is up and out of his restraints in a matter of seconds. 

The guard doesn't move. Tim feels a surge of guilt, remembering the servant from before. Remembering what Ra's did to him.

_Don't think about that_ , Tim chides himself. _Just survive_.

He takes the knife with him and runs. The stairwell is his first attempt, but the doors to the next level up are barred. Cursing under his breath, Tim runs down the stairs, bypassing three levels before darting out to one he hasn't been on yet. In the other compounds, the Expeditor always had a well-protected room in the lower levels. If Tim can't go up, then perhaps he can find that room. He could send a message out. 

Careful to avoid any guards or wandering servants, Tim creeps around, searching through rooms. Finally, he finds it.

The wall is lined from the desk to the ceiling with screens displaying each camera throughout the compound. Tim knows at once he's been kept to a fragment of the base. The sheer size of it tells him he's not just in one of Ra's' bases. He's in _the_ base, the center of all League activity: Nanda Parbat itself.

Tim drags a nearby cabinet over and blocks the door. It's not enough to keep anyone out for long, but it should give him enough time to cover his tracks.

He drops into the chair by the main console, the long necklaces rattling against the desk as he wheels the chair closer. The setup is similar to what the Expeditor at the Cradle used, but when Tim tries to use those credentials they fail. He grimaces. It was a long shot, but he had to try. 

The encryption is...difficult. Tim can't seem to crack it. It's multi-leveled. He can get through one area only to lose access to another. He knows he doesn't have the time to really work at it, but it's his only chance. 

It takes a good twenty minutes that Tim doesn't have to break through the encryption only to discover the network is completely closed. It's an intranet specific to Nanda Parbat for security and surveillance. Tim feels his chest seize, his ears ringing. He grabs at the fabric below his neckline and clenches it in his fist, trying to relieve some of the sudden pressure. He can't seem to get enough air in.

_No. Stop. Just breathe. Remember the goal._ He can't lose it and panic now. He has to _think_.

He has a computer. He has surveillance. What can he do with it?

Tim uses the system to learn the layout of where he's being kept. The city itself is enormous and sprawling, surrounded by miles and miles of desert. It's too much for him to memorize in a handful of stolen minutes. Instead, he keeps his focus on the compound. It appears to be the main structure in the city, the point around which everything else orbits. Ra's lives here. The Pit is beneath it. The current security system has Ra's in some kind of round table meeting. Tim watches him, unable to look away.

Ra's doesn't _look_ like he knows Tim is gone… He looks smug. Whatever is being discussed, he's pleased with the information. Tim swallows around the lump in his throat and quickly shifts the view to another level.

There's the movement Tim expected. Three floors down from Ra's, he sees a flurry of activity. Ra's' servants intermingle with masked soldiers, frantically searching room after room. They're looking for him. 

Tim's no fool. He knows he's going to be found.

The knowledge sits heavy on his shoulders. Ra's hurt him last time. He let people _watch_. Tim clenches his fists on the desk, closing his eyes. He needs to breathe, to slow the rapid pace of his heart. Ra's is going to hurt him when he's found. Accept that and move on.

He figures out where he is in relation to Ra's and the search party and reasons he has at least half an hour before they get to the level he's on. Monitoring the search only serves to give weight to his fear, so Tim doesn't bother.

But the files on past surveillance? _Those_ he can work with.

It takes some looking before he finds what he assumes is when Ra's brought him back to life the first time. He can't remember it at all, and there's no actual video surveillance down by the Pit. But he sees his corpse carried through the level above the cavern and roughly an hour later he's being carried out in Ra's' arms, alive but unconscious.

He doesn't show up on video for another few weeks after that. When he does, it's not substantial. Tim sees himself in snatches of time, brief seconds as he passes through the camera's frame. He's always in a wheelchair. Often there's a blood bag attached to the side of it, and it takes Tim a few minutes to realize the bag isn't _giving_ Tim blood. It's _collecting_.

"Why?" Tim breathes, bewildered. The Pit healed him. What did they need his blood for?

His mind supplies: cloning, medical experimentation. But those options don't ring true. Tim keeps looking.

He swaps views to the present again. The search party is on the level below his. Ra's is nowhere in sight.

"It doesn't matter," Tim mutters to himself. He keeps looking.

Eventually, he finds the moment of his second death. He remembers it in passing, like something that happened in a dream. He sees snapshots of a bright white light and Ra's looking down at him. He remembers the scent of the medical room, the sounds of machinery working, and his own terrified screaming. But the perspective from the security camera offers him so much more information. 

They weren't just staging an elaborate and terrifying death for Tim. They were harvesting pieces of him.

On screen, Ra's is holding his face. He's jerking against the restraints as much as the drugs allow as the doctors, assuming that's what they are, cut him open and peel the skin away from his chest. He watches them saw open his breast bone and lift out his heart. 

Numb, he watches the version of him on the table go limp. They've killed him. But they're not done.

They take out his lungs and liver. His eyes. Tim stops the feed when they pull out the bone saw again and start cutting his lower jaw away.

His stomach heaves. Tim shoves away from the desk and curls inward, dropping his face down between his knees as he gags. 

He can't watch that. Can't finish it. They were cutting him open, ripping him apart, and Ra's was there the entire time. Watching. Has this always been the plan? Tim sits back, panting. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and swallows, grimacing at the sour taste of bile lingering in his throat. 

There's a purpose. With Ra's, there's always a purpose. Tim keeps looking.

He goes beyond his resurrection, his focus now on the medical section of the compound. Other than the operating room, it's mostly blacked out. Tim tries hard to imagine why that might be and comes up blank.

Three days after his second dip in the Pit, he sees why.

At first, it looks like a corpse being wheeled out. But it's...wrong. Tim zooms in and leans forward, his elbows planted on the desk. It _is_ a corpse, but it's been mutilated. It's stitched up haphazardly on the abdomen and appears to be leaking fluid. The face--

"No." Tim sits back and covers his mouth, breathing slowly in and out through his nose. He manages not to get sick, but it's a close thing.

It's the face that did it. His jaws attached to a different head. His eyes implanted in lidless sockets.

They made a puppet. A puppet of _him_. And for the life of him, Tim can't figure out why.

With shaking hands, he switches the screen back to the current feed. The floor below his is empty. Tim switches to the level he's on, but he sees none of the activity he expects. He rotates to different views until he gets to the one outside the surveillance room.

Ra's is standing outside.

Tim jolts, adrenaline rushing through him. He pushes back the chair and scrambles to his feet, the necklaces clattering together loudly. His blood is pounding in his ears. He looks around wildly, eyes searching for an escape he knows he won't find. 

"You've been busy again," Ra's says. His voice carries through the door. "I thought I stamped out this particular rebellious inclination, but I see I have my work cut out for me."

Tim is breathing so hard he's sure Ra's can hear him on the other side. The cabinet's still blocking the door, but Tim knows Ra's will have it out of the way in seconds. 

"End of the line," Tim mutters. Then, louder, "What's the meat puppet for, Ra's?"

Silence. Then, "I would rethink your tone, Beloved." Ra's sounds pleasant, but Tim can hear the warning loud and clear. "Open the door. If I have to do it myself, you won't like the consequences."

Tim is torn. He knows there's no getting out of this, but...he could make it easier on himself. Playing along is a given, at least until he can get a message out to someone. There's no sense in making Ra's angrier. He knows what he can do to Tim--what, in all likelihood, he _will_ do.

Reluctantly, Tim drags the cabinet out of the way. He unlocks the door and opens it just enough to peer through the gap. 

Ra's slides his foot through and forces the door open, pushing Tim out of the way. He stumbles backwards and then catches his footing.

"I'm disappointed," Ra's tells him. "Remember this: everything I do is for your own good, Beloved. Just as every punishment you suffer is your _own_ doing."

Tim hunches his shoulders and looks at the floor, the walls--anywhere but at Ra's’ placid expression. _I can get through this. This is nothing. It's just my body, not my mind._ Cooperate now, his instincts say, and live to escape another day.

A hand touches his face, and Tim rears back, startled. 

"I have a gift for you. It's a pity you've felt the need to act out." Ra's clicks his tongue. "No more fighting. You'll follow me."

He isn't wrong. Tim is going to follow him, will duck his head and look properly shamed. He knows he's walking a thin line here. Ra's may never fully believe Tim if he keeps getting caught out like this, but it goes against everything in Tim to accept defeat without a fight. 

Ra's never turns around to see if Tim is following. His stride never slows. He doesn't need to look. Tim is obviously going to follow him. Where else could he go?

Mouth dry and hands shaking, Tim keeps his gaze on Ra's’ feet, on the immaculate golden hem of his robe. His stomach turns at the idea of being brought to the chair again. If they pin him down, if there's a crowd there to watch--

Tim swallows. He blinks rapidly, clearing the gathering moisture. He survived _that_ once already. He can do it again.

But Ra's doesn't take him to the throne room. Tim realizes about halfway there that he's walking Tim back to their room. Tim tries to feel glad about that. The bedroom means no audience to his misery. But it also means Ra's won't need to control himself strictly, won't have to play to the whims of his subjects. Whatever he plans for Tim, it's for Ra's' pleasure alone.

Ra's holds the door open for Tim, looking at him for the first time since leaving the surveillance room. "You look nervous, Beloved."

Tim pauses in the doorway. "Are you going to tell me I shouldn't?" 

"No," Ra's chuckles. He puts his hand on Tim's back and shoves him into the room. "I was going to tell you how beautiful you look when you're afraid." He follows Tim in and slams the door behind him. 

Tim whirls around, but Ra's is faster. He grabs Tim by the throat and _squeezes_. Tim's hands fly to his throat, clawing at Ra's, but he can't shake his grip off, can't get enough slack to suck in a single breath.

"Everything I've done for you," he hears Ra's saying, his voice muffled as though Tim is hearing it through water, "and you continue to try to embarrass me! You are _mine_." Tim's vision goes spotty, his hands dropping to his side. Ra's throws him onto the bed.

The necklaces clatter together as Tim tries to claw his way up the bed, chest heaving as he sucks in gasping breath after gasping breath. He makes it to the head of the bed and looks over his shoulder. Ra's' robe is gone and he's pulling his belt from his pants. 

"If you continue to act like a child," he's shouting now as he grabs Tim's ankle to drag him closer, "then I will treat you as one!"

"Ra's--stop--" Tim's chest _hurts_. His heart is slamming against his ribcage, his lungs tight. He still can't breathe, can't get his body to cooperate. He tries to pull away, but Ra's cracks the belt against Tim's exposed leg. Tim howls in agony, reflexively kicking out. Ra's slaps him open-palmed across the face.

"You'll take what I give you!" He's so close to Tim's face, spit spraying out with the force of his angered shouting. "I've taken care of you all this time! You will _obey_ me," he slaps Tim again, "without question!"

Tim collapses onto the bed, light-headed. "It hurts," he slurs. 

"Perhaps this is the only language you can understand," Ra's snaps. He grabs Tim's shoulder and jerks him up, shoving at him until Tim is lying on his stomach. "Pain. If that's what you need, Sora, then I'll gladly give it to you."

"Not my name," Tim tries to say, but it's lost in a pained moan.

Ra's flips the dress up, baring Tim's ass. Tim feels him do it, but he can't move, can't bring himself to look away from the headboard. If he pretends it isn't happening, pretends he's somewhere else--

The first hit brings tears to Tim's eyes. Ra's snaps the belt down again, cracking it against Tim's ass with greater force than the first time. Tim hears it whistle through the air when Ra's rears back. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries not tense, but it's so hard. He knows the pain is coming, can't stop the anticipatory flinch.

The jewels strung over his head slip off, sliding down over his eyes. Tim can feel how wet his face is, can hear himself sobbing and screaming with every hit.

"When will you learn," Ra's is still shouting at him. "You _stupid_ slut! Where do you think you'll be safer than with me? _Where_?!" He stops long enough to grab Tim's bruised ass, squeezing over the aching welts rising on delicate skin. "Answer me," he demands.

"I don't know," Tim cries. "Just--stop! It hurts--"

Ra's lets him go, only to bring the belt down again, snapping it over the swell of his ass. He grabs Tim and spreads his ass open, exposing his hole so he can spank it, too, the belt hitting his hole and sending sparks of pain through Tim. "Apologize," Ra's snarls, spanking his hole again. "Apologize for being an ungrateful whore!"

"I--" Tim chokes on the words, clawing at the bedspread, "sorry--s-sorry!"

"All of it!"

A fresh wave of tears crests over Tim's cheeks. "Sorry," he gasps, sobbing, “for--for b-being an," he swallows, "an ungrateful whore."

The belt hits his hole one last time before Ra's drops the belt on the bed next to Tim's face.

Tim cries against the bed, hiding his face in his arms. It hurts. It hurts _so much_. He wants to call for Kon again, wants Dick to burst in and save him. He doesn't care who sees him like this as long as someone gets him out of here.

"My love." Ra's brushes a hand down the side of his face. "You look beautiful like this. If you want me to hurt you, you need only ask. There's no need to misbehave."

Misbehave. Like Tim is an unruly child rather than a goddamn prisoner. Tim tries to slow his breathing, to regain some control, but he can't stop crying. His chest won't loosen enough to get in enough air. 

Then he feels Ra's' hand again between his legs. His fingers are wet, tracing up and down the cleft of his ass, probing at his aching hole.

"No," Tim tries to say, pushing up onto his toes where they drag along the floor, but Ra's doesn't listen.

He shoves two fingers into Tim, getting his hole wet. He pumps them in and out a few times, caressing Tim's inner walls, then he pulls out. 

"You belong to me," Ra's reminds him, grabbing Tim's hips and tilting his ass. He grinds against Tim's hole, the head of his dick catching at the rim before sliding off. "You would do well not to forget that." 

Tim squirms, but that doesn't stop Ra's from holding him still and thrusting forward. They both groan when the head pops in, but while Ra's throws his head back in pleasure, Tim's entire body is alight with pain.

"Please," Tim can't help but beg, lifting one leg up on the bed while the other plants his foot on the floor. "It hurts, _please_ \--"

"Tell me," Ra's demands, voice husky. He thrusts harder, his cock spearing Tim open, forcing his hole wide. "What hurts? Is it this?" He presses his thumb against Tim's rim where it's stretched the widest. Tim cries out, nodding against the bed. "Say it."

"My--my ass," Tim stammers.

Ra's fucks into him harder, a punishing pace. "No," he laughs, slapping Tim's ass. "Your cunt. Try again."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut. "My cunt," he says faintly.

"Louder!"

"Please stop," Tim sobs, "you're hurting my cunt!"

Ra's bows over him, fucking in once more, twice more, then he comes inside Tim, warmth spreading in his ass and driving out around Ra's' cock. "Very good," Ra's murmurs. He pulls out and smacks Tim's ass again, laughing when Tim cries out. 

Tim goes limp against the bed, but before he can relax Ra's squirms a hand under him to feel for his cock. "No!"

"You do enjoy when I play with your cunt," Ra's says, pleased. He lets Tim's cock go and shoves three fingers back into his ass. 

Tim arches, shrieking. He tries to get away, but Ra's grabs his hip, his grip iron. "I wouldn't let you go without satisfying you," he croons. "What kind of husband would I be?"

_It's just a body_ , Tim thinks frantically. _It's not me. It doesn't matter_ \--

"We have all day. I'll play with your cunt until I feel you come," Ra's promises him.

Tim feels shame boil in his gut as he tilts his ass, angling so Ra's' fingers hit him just right. He needs to come. The sooner he comes, the sooner this will end. It doesn't mean anything. He's nearly there when, as though sensing it, Ra's goes still.

Tim whines, frantic. He's being pulled between sensations, bouncing from insatiable need to disgust to agony over and over, an endless loop of torment and pleasure. He starts fucking himself back onto Ra's' fingers, but Ra's spanks him, a warning. 

"Use your words, Beloved. Is there something you want?"

Tim cries louder. He wants to be gone, wants to lose himself in his mind, be literally anywhere else in the world. But instead, he hears his own voice begging, laced with self-loathing. "Let me come," he's saying. "Finger my pussy until I come! Please, Ra's, _please_ \--"

Ra's fucks his fingers into him again at a bruising pace. Tim thrusts back, ass clenching, and he feels his orgasm building. He comes on Ra's' fingers with a whine, his vision whiting out.

When Tim comes to again, his hole is empty. The cum sliding down his ass and thighs is cold and sticky, pulling at his skin every time he shifts. 

"I suppose you've redeemed yourself." Ra's' voice startles him.

Tim climbs onto the bed all the way, wincing when every movement exacerbates the pain in his backside. He's afraid to see what it looks like. He's never been hit with a belt before. He hopes it never happens again.

Curling up at the head of the bed, he watches warily as Ra's, now dressed, approaches the bed. He drops a file in front of Tim. "Take a look. It's a gift."

Grabbing the folder, Tim glances at Ra's’ face, then opens it. The first picture makes his heart stutter in his chest.

"Bruce," he gasps, touching the man's face on the photo. It's definitely Bruce. He's dressed in a dark suit, frowning down at something. Damian is at his side. And Alfred? "He's back."

"It seems the Detective's eldest finally listened to reason," Ra's says. "He's been back for several weeks now. Of course, he's been rather busy. The funeral arrangements, you know."

Tim looks up, brows furrowing. "What funeral?" His gut clenches at the idea of another person dying. 

"Yours, of course," Ra's says. "The death certificate is next."

Cold spreads in Tim's chest. The next paper in the file is, indeed, Tim's death certificate. 

"They found your remains in a burned out car, as I understand it," Ra's continues. "There were traces of blood, but the Detective held out hope until the dental records were matched."

"The double," Tim breathes. He closes the file and looks at Ra's. His eyes begin to burn, tears gathering at the corners. "You planted that--that thing where they would find it. You let them believe--"

Ra's grabs Tim's chin. "I couldn't let the Detective or his foolish followers come between us. It's better this way." He leans closer and presses a gentle kiss to Tim's lips. "You'll understand one day."

The tears begin to fall. "They're not coming," Tim whispers. The brief flicker of hope that lit at the sight of Bruce's face vanishes. He's alone.

Ra's sits down on the bed and urges Tim closer, pushing him until his head is resting on Ra's' thigh. "They're not," he agrees. "You're finally safe. Here, with me."

"I don't understand." Tim swallows around the lump in his throat. "I'm not--what do you want from me?"

"I've searched for you for centuries, Sora," Ra's tells him. "Chased after every sign the mystics gave me. You were always out of reach. But now," he brushes Tim's hair aside, hands so cruelly gentle, "I've finally found you again. You passed every test where the others failed. I _know_ it's you, my Beloved. I'll never allow anyone to part us again."

Tim cries harder, clutching at Ra's' thigh. The man is completely mad. He thinks Tim is, what, some dead woman? He's holding him here, _hurting_ him, and he's planned to do it the entire time? Tim doesn't understand. He doesn't think he'll _ever_ understand. So he doesn't try.

Instead, he sobs pitifully into Ra's’ lap, biting back the scream clawing its way up his throat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [xavierurban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/pseuds/xavierurban) for beta reading!

Something is happening.

For once, it's not about Tim. He's reasonably certain of that. Ra's got up and left without trying to get Tim out of bed. He _did_ leave clothes out for Tim. Ra's ran his hand down the length of Tim's spine before kissing his throat. "Behave yourself," he told Tim before leaving. "My eyes will be on you."

It doesn't take Tim long to figure out those eyes aren't metaphorical. Guards are stationed at the door. Tim can hear them, the low murmur of their voices, when he presses his ear to the wood. He doesn't dare try to open it.

So instead, Tim finds himself putting on the dress, an elaborately embroidered silk kaftan. Beneath it is a simple black slip that reaches his knees. It's a much more conservatively cut than usual. When Tim finishes buttoning the front, he feels well-covered for the first time in weeks.

He assumes it's morning. Without a clock or any windows, Tim is constantly left guessing when and where he is. Has he really only been with Ra's for three months? He has no memory of the first few weeks. Could he be missing more? Maybe he's been here for years. Maybe Ra's keeps killing him and bringing him back. 

Tim stops his pacing and puts a hand over his heart. It's jack-hammering against his palm. He's terrified all the time. 

_Slow your breathing_ , he can hear Bruce say. _Like this. Breathe with me. If you panic, you can't think. And if you can't think_ \--

"...you're as good as dead," Tim finishes aloud.

He needs something to do, something to keep his hands busy. Tim's never functioned well in idleness. So he goes for the kettle of water Ra's left on the table. The tealight is still lit. Tim looks through the drawers until he finds the bag of dried leaves and shakes some out into his hand. Eyeballing what he thinks is a few teaspoons, he drops them into the basket and submerges it in the kettle. 

He's surprised Ra's thought to leave it burning, but Tim takes that as a further reassurance that he's playing his role well. He just needs to keep going. Ra's only needs to let his leash extend a little further, and Tim will have the room he needs to escape. This time, he's sure, he won't get caught.

The creak of the door hinges startles Tim. He freezes in place by the table, watching Ra's step into the room, casting his gaze first toward the bed, then toward Tim.

"As I thought," Ra's says, "that looks magnificent on you." He turns back to the open door and says something Tim can't hear. One of the guards follows him inside and closes the door.

Tim watches, cautious. He can hear the kettle boiling but doesn't dare move to pour a cup. "Thank you." He stays between the table and the wall, looking from Ra's to the masked guard. "Tea," he blurts when Ra's comes to stand next to him. Tim doesn't want him _closer_. "I made some. I could--do you want--"

"Such a thoughtful wife." Ra's leans into Tim's personal space, kissing his cheek. He curls an arm around Tim's waist and drags his mouth down Tim's neck.

_No_ , Tim thinks. His hands drop limp at his sides. He can't fight this. _Remember the goal_ , he reminds himself. Lengthen the leash. 

"Pull your dress up," Ra's murmurs against his skin. "The fabric is difficult to clean." 

Tim swallows audibly. He looks at the guard, but with the mask in place, the man may as well be a statue. Tim reaches down and tugs the skirt of his dress up, pushing the fabric forward so it rests on the table. He uses his hands to hold it in place, but before he can move again, Ra's grabs his wrists.

"Keep them there."

Tim leans his weight on his hands, trapping the fabric between his palms and the tabletop. His lower half is exposed, his cock already starting to swell despite the wave of disgust cresting over him. 

It means nothing. He's just gotten used to certain stimuli. It doesn't mean _anything_.

"She's such an obedient wife," Ra's says, "isn't she?" His voice is startlingly loud.

"Yes," the guard says, voice utterly blank. Tim looks at him again. He's standing so he can't help but watch Tim. Does he want to be there? Is he as disgusted with Ra's' insanity as Tim is?

"Tell him." 

"Tell him what?" Tim tries to shift subtly, to put distance between their bodies, but Ra's reads the movement as something else. He drapes himself over Tim's back, the length of his cock through his slacks resting on Tim's backside. He pushes his hands up Tim's dress to grab at his chest and squeeze the swell of his pecs.

"Tell him how much you love submitting to your husband." Ra's nips at his ear. He's pulling at Tim's nipples, nails biting into the tender skin. Tim arches his chest, trying to squirm away, but that only succeeds in pushing him back into Ra's. He probably looks like he wants it.

"I can't," Tim's voice breaks. He ducks his head, blood rising in his cheeks. He can't. He _can't_.

Ra's grinds against Tim, forcing him against the edge of the table and trapping his cock. It hurts, the edge of the wood biting into the underside, and Tim whimpers. 

"I love it," he blurts, panicking when the pressure on his cock doesn't let up, the table's edge a biting pain. "I love it when my--my h-husband fucks me--"

Ra's laughs, the sound ringing in Tim's ear with a dark edge. "Tell him what you want me to do."

Tim doesn't _know_ , he can't read Ra's' mood well enough. He looks at the guard, the mask blurred by Tim's tears. He wants someone to tell him what to do. If they'd just _tell_ him--

"I want you to fuck me," Tim tries, voice thick with tears, and Ra's finally backs up. Tim gasps when the painful pressure eases off of his cock. He's gone fully soft.

"It's difficult to deny her," Ra's tells the motionless guard. He urges Tim to lift his leg, hiking his knee up onto the table and leaning forward even further. His face is close enough to the tabletop that he can feel the heat emanating from the kettle. "Bring me the oil from beside the bed."

Tim goes rigid as the guard walks over to the bed. He grabs a small bowl from the bedside table and walks it over to Ra's. 

"She can be somewhat difficult," Ra's tells the guard. His tone is conversational even as he slicks his fingers and works Tim open on them. "Stand over there and hold her hands in place."

"Please," Tim says, a frantic edge to the word. "No, I'll be good, please make him leave--"

"She's shy," Ra's laughs over Tim's panicked blabbering. "Her wrists." 

The guard rounds the table and leans over to grab Tim's wrists and hold them in place. He's close enough that Tim can hear him breathing through the mask. 

_This is nothing_ , Tim reminds himself. _Close your eyes. Don't look._

But he's afraid to close his eyes. He's afraid if he's not looking, the guard will touch him, too. Ra's has three fingers in him now, is trying to squeeze in a fourth. "Soon I'll be able to fit my whole hand in you," he tells Tim. 

"No--"

"And you'll take it," Ra's speaks louder over Tim. "You'll take anything I give to you. If I want to fuck your slutty hole with my entire arm, you'll take it. You'll take that and more, won't you?"

Tears are spilling over Tim's cheeks now. The bone-deep fear of Ra's splitting him open, tearing up his insides just to make sure Tim knows he has no control settles heavy like a shroud over him. "Please," he begs, "I don't want it to hurt, Ra's. Please don't--"

Ra's pulls his fingers free with a humiliating slurping sound. Tim pants into the silence, unable to look at anything other than the masked face in front of him.

When Ra's' cock pushes into him, Tim shudders and finally closes his eyes. He doesn't want to know, doesn't want to see anything else.

He feels so big inside Tim. It doesn't matter how often he fucks Tim, it's always just as overwhelming. Tim is always just as afraid. He cries through clenched shut eyes, wailing when Ra's thrusts just right, glancing his prostate. 

"Not--please--" He stammers out the words as he's rocked against the table. He doesn't want to get hard. He hates coming from Ra's' attention. But Ra's keeps fucking him at that same angle, grabbing the back of Tim's thigh and spreading him open wider. 

"Beg for it," Ra's demands. "Beg for my release."

He can't mean it. But Tim knows he does. He opens his eyes again, staring up into the guard's mask. "Come inside me," he says, resigned.

"Tell him where you want it."

"I want--" The words manifest on their own. Tim's horrified as his mouth shapes them. "I want my husband's cum," he begs, "want it i-inside my pussy!"

Ra's fucks into him harder, finally curling over Tim to clench his teeth down high on Tim's neck above the dress' collar. Tim cries out at the pain of it, at the warm feel of Ra's coming inside him. 

Tim is still hard. He's crying, drooling onto the table, his wrists trapped in place still. When Ra's pulls out of him, he groans, his hips twitching and his hole spasming. He's disgusting. 

Ra's pushes Tim's hair behind his ear. "You can release him," he says. "Give me the package."

The guard's hands leave Tim, but he doesn't bother to move. He knows it isn't over. When he feels something hard and cold pushing into his hole, stopping the cum from leaking out, he lets out another choked sob, squirming away from the intrusion. 

Ra's slaps his ass once, hard. "Settle down." He wipes Tim's thighs off with a wet cloth, then pulls him upright and settles his dress down around his lower half again. He pushes Tim toward the bed.

Legs unsteady, Tim wobbles forward, feeling the thing inside him with every step. He's still hard, achingly so, and when he reaches the bed, he nearly collapses onto the floor before he can climb on.

"A pretty thing, isn't she?" Ra's asks the guard.

Tim settles in the bed, rocking back and forth on the plug involuntarily. He's close. He's _so_ close.

"Yes, sir." The guard is standing by the door again, unmoving.

Tim keeps rocking his hips, crying harder the closer he gets. He doesn't want to want it, doesn't want to feel Ra's' cum squelching inside him with every shift of the plug. He hasn't touched his cock yet. He doesn't know if he's allowed to. 

Lightning quick, Ra's draws a knife from his belt. He's across the room in seconds, burying the knife in the guard's throat. The guard drops, gurgling, his hands flying to the bleeding wound.

"A pity," Ra's says, looking down at the man's corpse. "But I can't abide by that." 

Tim doesn't move. He's frozen in place on the cusp of his orgasm, eyes drawn unwillingly to the dead man. "Ra's," his whispers. "Why?"

"You aroused him. I won't allow another man to take his pleasure from you, Beloved." Ra's approaches the bed, towering over Tim. "Enough unpleasantness. Continue, my love, as you were."

He can't seriously expect Tim to come with a dead body in the room? Tim looks up at him and sees not a hint of humor in Ra's' gaze. 

"Are you denying me?"

Tim shakes his head frantically. He leans back and starts rocking again, squeezing around the plug. "The dress," he gasps. "I'll get it dirty…"

"Then perhaps you should lift it up," Ra's suggests. He steps back to give Tim room to drag the skirt back up around his waist. He gathers it to his chest with one hand, the other pressed to his cock. He grinds against it, rocking his hips, movements gaining speed. He's close, so close, just a little more--

Tim comes with a whine, soiling his hand and the bed. He spasms around the plug, rocking harder and faster until the last of the aftershocks hit him. Even when his body goes limp, he doesn't drop the bunched up fabric where it's clutched at his chest. He looks up at Ra's and blinks through the haze of tears, dazed.

Ra's reaches out and wipes the moisture from his eyes. "You look so different now," he murmurs, "but just as beautiful. Let me clean you, Beloved. Stay as you are."

Holding himself in position, Tim can't stop weeping, can't stop the silent track of tears cascading over his cheeks. He's trembling where he sits on the edge of the bed, still cupping his soft cock. His cum is cooling on the thatch of hair above it, but he can't bring himself to care. He doesn't _want_ to care, not about anything, not ever again.

When Ra's returns with a small basin of water and a rag, Tim holds still for him. He lets Ra's wipe down his thighs and hand. He doesn't flinch when Ra's cups his cock and swipes away the cum smeared across it and up toward his belly. 

"You can rest," Ra's tells him magnanimously. "I have work to do. I'll take you to the banquet hall in a few hours."

Dropping his dress, Tim winces when the shifting motion agitates the plug. He looks pleadingly at Ra's before eventually dropping his eyes. He finds no mercy in that eerie green gaze. "What's in the banquet hall?" He's almost afraid to ask.

Ra's gestures for Tim to lay down. "A guest."

Tim's gaze returns to the body on the floor. He jerks upright, but Ra's presses him back into the bed. "I don't want a guest," he insists, urgent. "Please, I don't want anyone else dead because of me! I won't--"

Ra's slaps him, cutting him off mid-sentence. "You'll do as I tell you," he snaps, the earlier gentleness vanishing, replaced by cold anger. "Or do I need to put you in your place again?"

"No, no!" Tim curls up on the bed, one hand on his burning cheek. "I'll rest," he promises. "I'll go where you want."

Running a possessive hand over Tim's ass, Ra's gives it a squeeze and taps the end of the plug. "You're right," he agrees with a placid smile. "You will."

________

The dress is not enough. When Ra's stirs Tim from a restless sleep, he has that hated gold headdress clasped in one hand. Tim lets him drape it over his head, settling the largest stone on the center of his forehead. He puts rings on Tim's fingers, large emeralds set in silver. He runs his hands through Tim's hair, smoothing his bed-head into something respectable.

"Perfect," Ra's tells him, "as always."

The guard's body is gone. Small mercies, Tim guesses. 

When Ra's leads him out the door, Tim's wrist held in a firm grip, there are two guards standing on either side of the threshold. Tim wonders, as he passes them, if they'd cared how Ra's killed their comrade. If they even questioned it.

Tim is all but dragged to the banquet hall. He has to nearly run, his feet still bare, to keep up with Ra's' long stride. There's more activity than he's ever seen in the lower levels, a flurry of assassins and servants. Which begs the question… who is in the banquet hall?

When the doors are opened for them, Tim half expects to see a massive gathering, but sitting at the long table is a single woman. When she sees Ra's, she stands in deference, but when she sees Tim she sits down heavily, as though her legs gave out.

"Father," Talia breathes. "That boy--"

"I see no boy here," Ra's says, tone deceptively mild. "Be more respectful of my wife, Talia. I intend for you to view her as family."

Talia makes eye contact with Tim. She looks unsettled, the expression out of place on the woman Tim knows as always in control. "My apologies," she says after a pause. "It's good to see you, Father. I have information for you."

Ra's pushes Tim toward the chair across from Talia, pulling it out for him and caressing his hair before taking a seat himself. Tim tries not to wince when he sits down too hard, the plug hitting the seat and grinding into him. His eyelashes flutter at the sensation. He has to grind his teeth and dig his nails into his palms to relax again.

Ra's ignores Tim, save for resting a hand on his thigh beneath the table. "The information can wait." Tim hears this as it doesn't need to be said in front of the prisoner. "Tell me, what news is there from Gotham?"

Talia looks again at Tim. "They mourn."

"Is Bruce okay?" Tim blurts, unable to stop himself. "Did they recover him without--"

Ra's grabs Tim's jaw, forcing Tim to look at him. "It's impolite to interrupt, my love." His grip tightens painfully.

Tim nods. He doesn't know what else to do.

They're served food eventually. Tim can't bring himself to eat. Talia is _right there_ , and she's _seen Bruce_ , and Tim can't ask a fucking thing about it. He thinks of the photo, of the misery clear on Bruce's face. If Talia were to tell him where Tim is, Bruce would come for him. Tim's sure of it. If only--

"Is the food not to your liking?"

Tim looks at Ra's. "It's fine," he says. "I'm just not hungry."

"Perhaps the local cuisine isn't to his liking," Talia suggests. "American food is much simpler fare. The servants could--"

"My wife is not an American." Ra's' tone leaves no room for argument.

The unease returns to Talia's face. She glances at Tim again before her gaze slides back to Ra's. "I apologize. It won't happen again, Father." She doesn't look at him for the rest of the meal.

Tim wonders if there was ever a reason to have hope.

Talia and Ra's lapse into Arabic for the rest of the meal, neither of them looking at Tim while he tries to force the food down. He has to keep up his strength, to be ready to run at a moment's notice.

_You're just afraid to displease him_ , a treacherous voice whispers from a dark corner of Tim's mind.

He ignores it. He _doesn't_ care what Ra's thinks. This is just...being practical. Playing a part. He'll fool Ra's soon. The man is clearly unstable. Tim just needs to hold on for a little longer.

Talia stands and bows her head to her Father. When she rounds the table, she presses a kiss to his cheek, glancing at Tim one last time before leaving. Ra's squeezes Tim's thigh again. 

"She'll adjust to you," he tells Tim, as though Tim needed reassurance. "My daughter understands who you are better than anyone. She has read the historical records."

Whatever _that_ means. Tim doesn't speak. He nods at Ra's and follows him when he stands, filing away the information to be considered at a later time.

He lets Ra's lead him back to the room, suppressing a sigh of relief when neither of the guards follow them inside. He doesn't fight it when Ra's pulls his dress off, as well as the slip beneath it.

"I won't have as much time for you in the coming days," Ra's says, kissing Tim first on the jewel resting on his forehead, then on his lips. He slides his tongue along the seam of Tim's mouth, forcing his way inside.

Tim grabs Ra's' upper arms, letting him back them towards the bed. He doesn't struggle when Ra's pushes him down and gets a hand between his legs to grab the plug, fucking it in and out of him in shallow thrusts.

_He's going to be busy_ , Tim thinks, mind focusing sharply on that detail. If he can just get through today, he might have time to himself tomorrow. He might have time to actually _think_.

"I should pierce these," Ra's murmurs, grabbing one of Tim's nipples between two fingertips and squeezing, twisting. Tim lets out a noise shamefully close to a squeal, his back arching. "I'd have to do it myself, of course. I couldn't have another man's hands on your breasts." He cups his hands over Tim's flat chest, massaging. "Perhaps I should consider what the doctors advised."

_That_ gets Tim's attention. His mind flashes with an image of the medical room. He can almost feel the searing pain of being cut open again. "The doctors?" he asks, blinking away the surge of frightened tears. 

"They suggested hormones," Ra's explains. He's still rubbing Tim's chest, thumbs dragging over the peaked nubs. Tim never expected that would feel so good. His toes curl into the bedspread as he tries to stay focused on Ra's' words. "There are ways to...re-create, or perhaps mimic, the body you had before. I wouldn't want to change your lovely face, of course, but certain parts of you could benefit from modifications."

Tim goes cold, pleasure swept away by the rising tide of terror. "Modifications," he repeats, breathless.

Ra's gets his knee between Tim's legs. "This thing," he says. "I have no use for it. A second hole, however…"

There go the tears. Tim hears the ugly sobbing like it's coming from someone else, his mind going fuzzy. "No," he begs, rocking the swell of his arousal against Ra's' knee, "please, no, anything but--Ra's, _please_!"

"Perhaps," Ra's allows, shifting his knee away from where Tim is grinding against it. "If you behave, I might be willing to shelve that particular idea. But if you don't…"

"I'll behave," Tim promises, the fuzziness in his mind growing. It's like a film, covering everything, blurring his thoughts and blotting out the fear. Suddenly, he doesn't feel anything at all. "I'll behave," he says again, softer. "I'll do whatever my husband wants."

Ra's' eyes seem to glow with satisfaction. "And what can your husband do to please you, my love?"

Tim looks down at where Ra's' hands are still playing with his chest. "My tits," he hears himself say, "play with my tits, put your mouth on them--"

Ra's does. With a growl, he bites at Tim's nipples until they're sore and red, kisses and sucks and licks at his chest. His hand is back between Tim's legs, yanking the plug out.

Tim feels himself open up again, still wet from before. He spreads his legs, cradling Ra's between them. He begs for his husband's cock dutifully. 

He feels like he's watching himself, floating somewhere above his body. That can't be _him_ Ra's is fucking. It's certainly not his body Ra's comes inside. He's not the stupid slut laying in the bed, begging for his husband to fuck his pussy and play with his tits until he comes.

When Ra's is done with him and leaves him on the bed, his full ass plugged up and with cum still drying on his belly and thighs, Tim still doesn't come down. He finds that floating suits him much better than crying.

________

Tim is left alone the next day. He stays in bed, not moving aside from going to the bathroom. He doesn't eat. He just...is.

Ra's doesn't seem bothered. He fucks Tim whether Tim is present for it or not. 

The day after that, Tim is only left alone for a short time after Ra's leaves. A sharp rap on the door startles Tim out of his daze. He manages to cover himself with the quilts before the door opens and Talia steps inside.

The haze clears, just a bit. Tim sits up, wrapped in quilts to preserve the illusion of modesty.

"So this is where he's been keeping you," Talia says. She sits at the table across the room.

"Did he send you?" Tim asks. He _has_ to ask. If Talia is here without permission, he'll have to make her leave.

"He suggested we could keep each other company." There's something sour in her tone.

Silence holds court between them for several long minutes. Tim breaks first. "You've seen Bruce?"

"From a distance," Talia admits. "He's understandably preoccupied right now. My Beloved has never handled the death of a child well."

The reminder of the fact that no one is looking for him stings. "What would it take for you to send him a message?" Tim has to try. 

Talia just laughs. "You don't seem to understand." 

"I understand perfectly well that your father has had some kind of psychotic break," Tim snaps. The haze clears completely, blown aside by anger. "He thinks I'm some dead lady! He keeps calling me Sora! I have to get out of here. Tell me what you want, and I'll do it." If she wants, he'll beg on his knees.

"He calls you Sora." Talia's tone is flat, her expression frozen.

"Among other things."

"Do you know who she is?"

"Not really," Tim admits. "He said she was his first love. He thinks--"

"He believes _you_ are his first wife," Talia sums up. "Her reincarnation. I'd heard rumors about Father consulting mystics over the centuries, searching for a way to revive her, but I had no idea it went this far."

"He's insane," Tim insists. "I'm not his dead wife!"

"Possibly. Perhaps Father's mind is finally slipping. Perhaps you _are_ Sora. It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does! It matters because it's not true! I can't do this! You have to help me!" If she loves Bruce at all, she'll get Tim out of here. 

Talia's icy mask finally breaks. She looks tired, worn thin. " _You_ don't understand. That I have seen you here at all means it's too late. For both of us."

Tim gathers the quilts around himself and slides off the bed. He walks to the table and sits across from her, glancing warily at the door. "How so?"

"You're very like your mentor. You deny my father's humanity. He isn't a demon, you know. Beyond the Pit's gifts, he's still just a man. One who loves with frightening intensity." Talia places her hands on the table, tapping her nails against the wood. "He means to keep you here forever, Tim. He won't let you go anymore than he did me."

"He didn't have to let you go," Tim snaps. "You were more than happy to stay at his side!"

"I've tried to leave many times," Talia murmurs, voice pitched so low Tim can barely hear it. "And in many different ways. His hold on me never loosened. As it never will on you." She clears her throat. "It won't be possible for me to send Bruce a message. I doubt I'll be leaving Nanda Parbat again."

"That doesn't make any sense! You said he loves you."

"To love is the same as owning, at least in Father's mind."

Tim feels sick. "There has to be a way." Think. Just _think_. "Can you get outside? Onto a roof maybe?"

Arching a brow, Talia nods. "Of course. My movements aren't as restricted as yours."

"Call for Superboy. Or Superman. They can hear you," Tim insists. "Tell them you and I are trapped. They'll come. They'll save us."

"You put too much faith in your heroes," Talia scoffs. "I'll see what I can do."

Tim tries to urge her, to reassure her that it will work, but Talia cuts him off with a wave of her hand. "Speak no more of this. For now, play your part as I will play mine. If either of us anger him, there is no place to hide."

Tim knows that well. They spend the afternoon playing chess. Talia tells him the situation in Gotham, of the turnout at his funeral. Her voice is soothing, absent of the anger and possessiveness he's used to hearing from her father. With her comes a spark of hope, a light at the end of all this darkness.

When their time together ends, Talia clasps Tim's shoulder in a silent goodbye. She kisses her father's cheek and leaves.

Tim hopes she listens to him. He hopes she runs to the upper levels as fast as her legs can carry her.

Ra's is in and out for the remainder of the evening. Working, he claims. Tim assumes that means killing a lot of people. He tries not to think about it too hard.

Talia will save him. Tim can _feel_ it.

Ra's returns hours later, when Tim is already in bed. It's difficult to sleep, knowing Ra's can come in at any time, so Tim spends the time alone drifting, staring at the walls. Ra's comes in and undresses, sliding into bed and moulding himself to Tim's back. To his surprise, Ra's doesn't try to fuck him. He wraps his arms around Tim and buries his face in Tim's hair.

"My love," Ra's says, subdued. "I've been betrayed. And by my own flesh and blood."

Tim's body goes cold. "What do you mean?"

"To think Talia would try to take you from me." Ra's' arms around Tim tighten. "No doubt looking for a way to gain favor with your mentor." He's quiet for a minute. Tim wonders if Ra's can feel the racing beat of his heart. "Did you know about this?"

"...no." Tim closes his eyes. _You're a coward_ , he tells himself. _A worthless coward_. 

"I knew you didn't," Ra's assures him. "Beloved, I will keep you safe. From the world, from yourself, from my own child, it matters not. No one will ever take you from me again."

Tim has to open his eyes. He can't stop imagining Talia's corpse. He'd sent her to her death on a selfish whim. He'd cost them both their freedom. 

"Tell me you love me," Ra's demands.

"I love you."

"Tell me you'll never leave me."

"I'll never leave you," Tim parrots obediently. 

Ra's doesn't ask why he's crying. He holds Tim, murmuring in satisfaction, while Tim watches his last spark of hope snuff out and die.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [xavierurban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/pseuds/xavierurban) for beta reading!

The sun is nearly down. Tim is standing in the desert, staring out at the dunes. He's waiting. Afraid. Something is happening, something important. A cry sounds in the distance and something slams into Tim from behind. His body jolts, then does it again. And again and again and--

Tim gasps, trying to scramble away. But when he looks, the desert is gone. The bedroom is dark and cold, and something is rocking into him, splitting him open. He keens, pushing back into the feeling. 

"Good morning, my love," Ra's purrs in his ear. 

Tim buries his face in the bed. He's still here. He's _still fucking here_.

Ra's scrapes his teeth along the slope of Tim's neck. His bare chest is scorching hot against Tim's back, his knees jammed against the insides of Tim's thighs to hold him open. 

Tim's hips ache with the stretch, but he knows better than to struggle. He lays there and takes it, drooling against the bed, letting every thrust grind his leaking dick into the mattress.

When the servants arrive to light the fire and bring water and a new chamber pot, Ra's only fucks him harder. Tim goes rigid when the firelight exposes him, his body clamping down, and Ra's groans into the sweat-soaked skin of his shoulder. 

"Your body is so welcoming," Ra's groans, grinding in harder. "Your cunt feels _perfect_..." 

Tim buries his face in the bed, but when he doesn't react, Ra's sits back on his knees and drags Tim's hips with him, pulling him up onto his hands and knees. The quilt falls away, exposing Tim to the room at large. The servants don't look at him, but Tim knows they're listening. The slick sounds of Ra's fucking his hole, the stacato _ah, ah, ah_ 's that Tim can't keep quiet fill the room, obscene. 

"Please come," Tim begs, face burning. He just wants it to end, doesn't care if he gets any relief himself. Just let Ra's finish so the humiliation can stop.

"Always so desperate for it," Ra's is almost growling, his voice louder than before. "Beg for it. Beg me to give you my seed."

It always comes back to this. Tim stares down at the bed. "Come inside me," he pleads, trying to spread his legs wider, to fuck back onto Ra's' cock. "Give me your cum, Ra's, please, fill my cunt up--"

Ra's doesn't miss a beat. He pushes his arms under Tim's thighs and hoists him up, spearing him fully on Ra's' cock and showing him off to their unwitting audience. Tim wails at the sudden depth, holding his belly. He presses just hard enough that he swears he can feel Ra's inside him while he's dragged up and down, forced to ride his cock. 

"Tell me how it feels."

"S'good," Tim slurs. He can't deny it. Ra's is enormous and hitting him in all the right places. His thighs tremble in Ra's' grasp, his hips twitching, seeking friction but finding only open air. 

Ra's drags him down all the way one last time before finding his release, his hot cum filling Tim's sloppy, stretched hole and dripping out around his length. Tim is _so_ hard, so close, but Ra's pays him no mind. He lifts Tim off his softening cock like he weighs nothing and drops him onto the bed.

"Set it up there," he says to the servants. 

Tim pushes himself up on trembling arms, already grinding himself against the bed, desperate. He looks around and sees one of the servants dragging what looks like an IV cart to the middle of the room. "What's that?"

"I'll be taking you to the baths. These bird baths I've been allowing you aren't enough. You'll be attending a meeting with me today. I want my wife to look her best."

Tim won't complain about a shower, but he still doesn't understand the IV. He doesn't fight when Ra's orders him to stop soaking the bed with his cunt and pulls him off. He doesn't even question when Ra's puts him on the floor on his hands and knees.

"You're filthy," Ra's tells him. Tim's ears go red, the flush spreading to his face and down his neck. "You reek of sex, my love. I won't give another man the pleasure of seeing you like this. So I'm going to clean you up."

Tim feels something thin and blunt press against his hole. "What is that?" He feels Ra's twisting it in place, screwing it into Tim. It starts out slender and slowly tapers to a larger shape, filling Tim. When it goes as deep as it can, Tim feels something large at the base, holding it in place. Then Ra's starts pumping it.

The thing inflates, spreading Tim wide. If he hadn't just gotten fucked, it might hurt. But his hole is wet and open, and he's stupidly hard. Tim shuffles on his knees, spreading his legs as the stretch widens. He whines, dropping his chest to the ground and cradling his forehead on his arms. His cock is leaking precum and hanging heavy between his legs.

The pumping stops. "Very good." Ra's rubs Tim's back. "Hit the release. Open it all the way."

Before Tim can ask what that's supposed to mean, he _feels_ it, a trickle of warm liquid that abruptly becomes a stream, pouring into him. He shoves back up onto his hands and knees. "Ra's, no!"

Ra's spanks Tim's ass. "Be silent! This is not up for debate."

The hit causes the liquid gathering in Tim to slosh. Tim feels his gut cramping and groans. "It's too fast," he moans, squirming. "Slower--"

Ra's hits his ass again, and Tim's mouth shuts with an audible click. It _hurts_ , the cramps coming harder and faster. Tim grits his teeth against the feeling. 

"You're halfway there," Ra's soothes him. He kneels down next to Tim and reaches under him, pressing at his lower abdomen. "There's plenty of room left."

"No," Tim whines. Somehow, he's still hard. Ra's rubs his belly, his other hand coming up to rest on Tim's ass. He pushes Tim just enough to force him to rock forward. Tim gasps at the way the pressure shifts, at the shock of pleasure in stark contrast to the too-full feeling. Ra's nudges him again, and Tim takes the hint. He starts rocking, flexing his hips. He wants to beg Ra's to touch his dick, but he knows Ra's won't.

Finally, the bag empties. Ra's stands and removes the line, hanging it back up on the stand. The base stays inside Tim, keeping him from leaking.

Tim doesn't stop rocking, shifting his weight back and forth, feeling the rigid length of plug rub against his prostate. The fluid distending his belly sloshes with every movement. He's so hard, so close, but the pressure inside him is overwhelming. Tim whines, hanging on the edge but unable to come. 

Ra's shushes him and grabs his arm, helping Tim to his feet. He places a hand on the bump on Tim's abdomen. "Bring me her robe. Yes, that one."

Tim forgot about the servants, but standing upright, he's forced to notice them. One, an older woman, drapes a sheer robe over Tim's shoulders. Ra's helps him get his arms in the sleeves, ignoring Tim's mewling whimpers when the fabric brushes whisper soft against his rigid length. 

Ra's walks Tim out into the hall, an arm around his waist. Tim barely notices the guards following after them. He's too wound up, desperate, unable to pay attention to anything other than his weeping erection, the fluid stuffing him full, and the plug rocking against his prostate with every step. 

Tim gets about four feet from the door before he comes, his knees buckling. He wails, clutching at Ra's, burying his face in his chest.

"You take such pleasure in submitting," Ra's murmurs, rubbing Tim's back as the aftershocks fade. "It's a beautiful sight, Beloved."

Tim shakes against Ra's, eyes clenched shut. He feels tracks of moisture over his cheeks, but he can't recall when he started crying. He feels himself start to drift again, his mind going hazy.

Ra's stoops down and scoops Tim up with an arm under his knees. Tim keens as the fluid shifts, sloshing inside him uncomfortably. Now that the edge of pleasure is gone, the cramps are borderline painful. He grabs his belly and moans, hiding his face against Ra's. 

The baths are beautiful. Any other time, Tim would stop and admire them, but when Ra's puts him down and strips the robe off of him, Tim can't do anything but shake in agony.

"It hurts," he whimpers, still holding his stomach. "Ra's--"

"Over there," Ra's says, gesturing to an open tiled area with drains on the floor. Water cascades down the walls. "Stand over there and release the water. You'll be cleaned after you've purged."

The guards are behind him. Tim's eyes follow Ra's' hand, and he sees several servants. They're just...standing there. Waiting.

Watching.

"Make them leave," Tim begs in a whisper. "You said you didn't want anyone to," he swallows, "to see your wife like this, didn't you?"

"Did I?" Ra's shoves at him. "Go. You've wasted enough time."

Tim wipes at his eyes. He's so tired of crying, of Ra's' wildly oscillating moods. He turns and walks gingerly to the tiles, stopping and looking back over his shoulder. They're all _looking_ at him. Tim starts crying again, silent, as he reaches behind himself to grab the plug. His stomach cramps viciously one last time as he yanks it out. He shudders as the fluid slides out of him, his stomach shrinking.

The servants don't hesitate to move in, grabbing Tim and wiping him down with warm cloths before guiding him to one of the open baths. Tim, choking on his own sobs, lets them. 

Ra's watches the entire time as the servants bathe him. They rub scented oils on his body. Humiliatingly, they have a glass plug with them. Ra's lets these complete strangers stick their fingers inside Tim, to slick his hole before plugging him up again. 

They dress him in a long deep green dress with silver accents and decorate him with silver chains that wind around his neck and down his arms, ending in a set of cuffs that fix his wrists together. They smear kohl over his eyes and leave him with Ra's and the guards.

They don't speak to him, don't make eye contact. Tim isn't human. He's a decoration. 

"With me, Beloved." Ra's steers Tim out of the baths, the guards falling into step behind them.

________

Talia is alive.

Tim sees her only for a moment, but she's _alive_. She's somewhere in the sea of people waiting for Ra's to speak. Tim is sat to his right on the raised dais, his shackled hands resting in his lap. He saw her walk into the hall, her penetrating gaze sweeping over the crowd before blending in seamlessly. The side of her face was dark with bruising, and a white bandage was wrapped around her throat. 

But Tim doesn't care. Hurt is better than dead.

He leans forward, searching for any sight of her, but there are far too many people packed into the large hall. Ra's stands, and silence falls over them.

He isn't speaking English. Tim tries to focus and remember what he knows of the local dialect, but his attention wanders. If Talia is alive, there's still a chance for them. Maybe she did manage to get some kind of message out before she was caught. 

He needs to see her, to speak with her. He'll beg Ra's for her company if he has to. That brief moment of camaraderie is the brightest moment he's experienced in this hell.

Ra's is addressing the crowd still. Tim catches the name Sora at least once, the word for wife several times. Tim's face goes red. It never occurred to him this would be about _him_ , but he's drawn out of his thoughts at the feel of hundreds of sets of eyes on him. He forces himself still and straight-backed, staring out at the masses. He's not afraid of them. He's already experienced the worst Nanda Parbat has to offer.

Eventually, Ra's stops speaking. He sits down next to Tim and together, they watch the crowd disperse until there's only one person left standing.

"Daughter," Ra's calls, his voice echoing against the high ceiling. "Come to me."

Talia approaches them slowly, less certain than Tim expects. The closer she gets, the worse the swelling appears on both sides of her jaw. Tim winces at the sight.

When she stands at the edge of the dais, Ra's holds out a hand. "Your betrayal weighed on me, Talia, like no other before it. It pains me to even think it, but should you defy me and try to take Sora from me again, you will beg for death before your punishment ends. Is that clear?"

Talia nods, her face pinched. 

Ra's grabs Tim's linked hands. "I would have you both at my side in a perfect world, but if I can have only one of you, know that I will always choose you, Beloved."

Tim can read between the lines. If he pushes Talia to help him, Ra's will kill her. He can't pretend it's unexpected.

Talia nods again. She's carefully not looking at Tim. 

"I believe I've solved the issue. A suitable arrangement. My only regret is that I didn't think of it earlier." Ra's snaps his fingers. "Come closer, Daughter. Show my wife your penance."

Tim shifts, uneasy, but Ra's grip on his hands tightens. He watches Talia step up on the dais and approach them. She finally looks at Tim and opens her mouth. 

Tim wishes she didn't.

"Her traitorous tongue had to go, of course," Ra's tells Tim. He's so casual about it, like he's describing the weather rather than listing the ways he mutilated his child. "Her vocal cords and larynx as well. She's perfect in her silence, don't you think?"

Talia meets Tim's horrified stare head on. She doesn't flinch. 

Even after Ra's dismisses her, Tim can't get the look in her eyes out of his head. The despair, the acceptance… She doesn't believe she can escape. Ra's tortured her, cut parts of her out, undoubtedly conscious. Tim aches for what he sent Talia to, but more than that, he mourns the freedom she represented.

He falls asleep in Ra's' arms that night thinking of Talia, perhaps the only person in the world capable of understanding the depths of his terror.

When he finally falls asleep, his dreams are restless.

Tim is in the desert again. 

He's afraid. The sun has long since gone down, and the moon casts an eerie glow over the sloping dunes. Tim is running from something, an unnamed evil hidden in the desert's endless horizons. He's alone, but he shouldn't be. Someone should be with him, someone who loves him, but Tim can't _remember_. He's so afraid, it hurts to breathe.

He drops to his knees and starts digging, his hands tearing through the sand, searching. He doesn't know what he's looking for, taken over by an inexplicable urge. He touches something solid beneath the sand and heaves it up. It's heavy, and he nearly loses his grip--

Red eyes look up at him as sand sluices off the surface of a beast's enormous face. It glows a frightening green in the darkness. Tim lets it go, scrambling away, but it's too late. The demon's head rises through the sand, all of its attention on Tim.

Tim screams. He thrashes desperately, trying to escape. It's going to pull him under. It's going to devour him alive.

"Wake up!"

The shout slams Tim back into his body. He's gasping, his face wet. 

"It's going to kill me," he babbles, grabbing at Ra's, dragging him closer. "The demon's head--those eyes--"

Ra's puts a hand over Tim's mouth. "Breathe, my love," he soothes. "A dream is all it was."

Tim sucks in air against Ra's' palm. It was a dream. Only a dream. "It felt real," he whispers when Ra's pulls his hand away.

"Tell me," Ra's murmurs, pushing Tim's hair behind his ears. "Let me ease your mind."

Tim looks down at his hands. His heart is still pounding, adrenaline coursing through him. "I was in the desert," he says, voice wavering. "I was...looking for someone. Someone who was supposed to be with me. It was dark. I…" He trailed off, swallowing. "I started digging. I don't know why. And I found...it was a demon. I _know_ it was. It had these enormous red eyes. It was as green as the Pit. It rose up from the sand. And it--"

Ra's' eyes glow, eerie and intense. "What then," he demanded, grabbing Tim's arms. "Tell me what happened!"

"It was going to devour me." Tim can feel it. He can _still_ feel it. "Then you woke me."

Abruptly, Ra's gathers Tim in his arms, holding him tightly. Tim goes willingly for once, too shaken. He wants someone to hold him, to be gentle. He wants to be _safe_.

Ra's kisses him frantically, his hands in Tim's hair. "I knew," he's chanting, "the moment I saw you. I _knew_."

"Ra's," Tim starts, but he trails off, overwhelmed by Ra's' intensity.

"This time, I'll give you eternity," Ra's swears, burying his face in Tim's neck. "I know what went wrong, my love. I know how to keep you safe."

In the morning, Ra's is reluctant to leave him. He hadn't let Tim sleep, hadn't been able to keep his hands off of him. Tim is sore and tired. He's shaken still, both from the dream and Ra's reaction to it. There's so much he doesn't understand.

But Ra's does leave. Talia arrives shortly after.

_Can you sign?_ she asks, her hands moving fluidly. It's American Sign Language, thankfully. Tim recognizes the motions.

"Yeah. I learned a while back." It came in handy with Cass and on the field. 

Talia drags a chair over to the bed. _He hurt you last night. You look weary._

Tim grimaces, gathering the bedding closer. "I'd rather not discuss it."

_I understand_. Maybe she really does. Tim hopes not. 

"I'm sorry," Tim offers. He can't not say it. "I should have known--"

Talia holds up a hand. _My failure is my own. From here, we can only move forward._

"But what can we even do?" Tim rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. "To be real honest, I didn't think he'd ever let us be alone together again."

_We're easier to watch together. And he does seem to love you. I'm a more skilled guard than any other than himself._

"He doesn't love me," Tim snaps. "He loves a dead woman. There's a big difference!"

Silence falls between them. Talia doesn't look like she pities him. That's the only thing that makes this bearable for Tim.

_You misunderstand_ , she finally says. _This **is** how my father acts with love. It's our bloodline's curse. We can't seem to love sanely_.

Tim thinks of Bruce, of how Talia hurt him in so many different ways. "I guess not." Still, "It doesn't matter if he thinks he loves me. I'm not his dead wife."

_Tell me more about this. He claims you're Sora._

"She was his wife, right? Your mother?"

Talia shakes her head. _Sora was his wife when he was a young man, long before he ever found the Lazarus Pit._

Jesus. That's even worse than Tim suspected. "He says he tested me, that I passed all of his tests. And then when I--when I died," it's still difficult for Tim to think about, "he decided I couldn't be trusted to keep myself safe."

_How did he test you?_

"No idea." Tim laughs, bleak. "He claims I passed all of his tests, but nowhere while I was looking for Bruce or fighting the Council of Spiders do I remember auditioning to be your new mom." He pauses. "No offense."

Talia waves a hand dismissively. _I'm not surprised he didn't reveal his intentions. He wanted unbiased results._

Tim is about to speak, but his gaze catches the glint of the golden headdress where it sits draped over the puzzle box next to the bed. "Oh," he breathes, grabbing it. "There was this." He hands it to Talia. "The jewels were in the box."

She takes it and immediately moves to open it. It doesn't budge. _What is it?_

"It's a puzzle box," Tim explains. "Here, let me." He takes the box and presses the hidden lever, shifting the parts until the inside compartment is revealed. "It--and the jewels--belonged to Sora."

_How did you know?_

"That it was hers?" Tim asks, frowning. "Ra's told me."

She shakes her head, her hands moving. _How did you know how to open the box?_

Dumbfounded, Tim looks at the opened puzzle box. "I just," he tries, then trails off. "It was obvious."

Talia gives him a look Tim has seen on Damian's face one too many times. _I assure you. It was not._

"It doesn't matter. It doesn't prove anything," Tim points out. "It's a box. Anyone could figure that out."

_There must be more_ , Talia insists. _Father is no fool._

"I don't know." Tim drops the jewels on the bed. "There’s nothing I can think of. The dreams didn't start until I was already here."

That catches Talia's attention. _What dreams?_

"I don't think they mean anything. I'm always in the desert, usually afraid of something. Last night," and here he finds himself hesitating. But there's no reason to. They mean _nothing_. So he describes digging in the sand and finding the head of a demon. Talia listens raptly, as focused on Tim's words as her father was.

_You have to tell him about this_.

"I already did," Tim admits. "He was sure it meant something."

Talia sits back, crossing one leg over the other. She says nothing for a long moment, watching Tim contemplatively. _Whatever the truth may be_ , she finally signs, _he's convinced that you are Sora. And we can use that._

"I've tried that already. He's not exactly letting me lull him into a false sense of complacency."

_You can't fight a war on two fronts_ , she advises him. _Keep him occupied. If his eyes are off of me, I can gather support. Supplies. I can find us a way out. Let Father's madness be his undoing._

Logically, Tim agrees with her. But he also knows what she's asking. She intends for Tim to throw himself at Ra's' feet. "I'm not sure I can do that, Talia," he admits, voice hoarse. Honestly, the idea terrifies him.

Talia slides off the chair and onto the bed. She grabs Tim's hand and squeezes it once before releasing him, signing quickly. _You must. You've done undercover work before. This is a mission you must not fail._

"I don't want him to touch me again," he admits, breaking. "Talia, you don't understand."

_It will take me time to find our escape route. You must obey my father until I can. I know what I'm asking of you, but there's no other options. Do everything in your power to convince him you're Sora. Keep his attention solely on you. Don't fight him._

For a moment, Tim entertains the idea that this is all some elaborate plot of Ra's' to get Tim to obey him, but he quickly discards it. Talia is suffering, too. He knows she must still be hurting. If anything, her part in this will be more dangerous.

"Do you really think we can do it?" he asks. If she doesn't, if there's really no hope--

_We can_ , Talia insists. _We will survive this. I'll return you to Bruce. I will not fail again._

"Work quickly," Tim says, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels.

Talia, ever perceptive, says nothing. She merely grabs his hand again and squeezes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [xavierurban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/pseuds/xavierurban) for beta reading!

Tim dreams of the desert every night. Sometimes it's the dream of the Lazarus green demon rising from the sand, sometimes Tim is alone, searching. Sometimes he's running. Ra's loves the nights he dreams of the demon and wakes up screaming. Tim supposes he's more malleable when he's disoriented and afraid.

But then, he's pretty malleable on the whole, these days.

He keeps his mouth open, his jaw aching. Cum spills down from the corners of his lips. Ra's is tucking his cock back into his trousers and looking down at Tim fondly. "That's right," he says, smoothing his thumb over Tim's stretched bottom lip. "Stay just like that."

Tim clenches his fists on his knees. He whines, saliva trickling out of his open mouth.

Ra's keeps him like that while he looks over documents at the table. Tim is in the center of the room. People come and go, barely glancing at the naked man kneeling on the floor and covered in cum, his mouth open and tongue hanging out. He drifts, miserable, until Ra's finally gets bored of the game and tells Tim to crawl across the floor and get him hard again.

Closing his mouth with a grateful whine, Tim shuffles over on his hands and knees and buries his face in Ra's' lap, mouthing at his length through his pants.

"You're beautiful in your submission." Ra's pets his hair, watching Tim work. "I'll give you everything, my love. You only need to please me."

Tim closes his eyes, trying to block out Ra's' voice. _It's a mission_ , he tells himself, knowing how desperate he is to believe that. He's fallen so easily into the role of Ra's' wife.

Frighteningly easy.

Ra's pushes Tim back and gets his cock out. Tim watches raptly, staring at the swollen length. He wants it, can feel his hole clenching down, hungry for something to fill it. 

"Come here, Beloved," Ra's urges, patting his knee. "I can see how desperate you are for release. You need something to fill that weeping hole." 

Tim doesn't argue with him. It's not his place, not _Sora's_ place. Instead, he scrambles up into Ra's' lap and then reaches behind himself to grab that thick cock and aim at his hole. He sinks down with a groaned, "Thank you." When he's fully seated on Ra's' length, he comes, hole spasming. He keens, thighs trembling, and loops his arms around Ra's' neck.

He doesn't wait for Tim to go lax. Ra's bucks up into Tim, fucking him through his orgasm, going harder when Tim cries out from overstimulation. He knows it's only a matter of time before he's hard again.

Tim can't remember the last time he came with a hand on his cock. Ra's has his body trained to react to certain stimuli. His cock leaks at the feel of something pushing inside him, spreading him wide. Only a few nights earlier, Tim came from having his nipples toyed with, thrashing on the bed while Ra's sucked on his tits and whispered filthy words into his skin. Tim's afraid he'll never go back to normal. Even if he escapes, his body will never forget.

Ra's comes with a grunt, dragging Tim down as deep onto his cock as he can get him. Tim shivers, moaning softly when Ra's slips free of his body. He reaches back and plugs his hole with his fingers. 

"You want to stay full?" Ra's rubs at his rim. "No, you've had enough, you insatiable slut. Take them out."

Tim does as he's commanded, pulling his fingers free. He doesn't even wince at the wet squelch or the feel of Ra's' seed dribbling out of him. He slumps over Ra's’ lap, resting his head on a broad shoulder. 

Ra's stands, carrying Tim with his hands under his thighs. "The servants will clean you and bring you food. Talia will watch over you." He whispers something in Arabic, kissing Tim's forehead as he lays him down on the bed.

When Talia arrives, Tim is still laying in bed where the servants left him. He refused to get up, so his clothes are draped artlessly over the foot of the bed. 

"I'm tired," he says when she stands next to the bed and levels him with an unimpressed stare. "I don't think I can do this anymore."

_You don't have a choice_ , she signs. _Get up. If you continue to give in to this inclination, you will fail and kill us both_. She stares him down until Tim relents, rolling out of bed. He can't bring himself to care about his nudity or the bruised and battered state of his body, the visible handprints on his hips and ass. Talia's seen it all a hundred times over. 

She grabs the clothes and shoves them at Tim, then retreats to her usual chair. The servants left the tea and a tray for breakfast, and Talia picks at it. When she takes a bite of something she doesn't like, her nose scrunches. Tim sees more of Damian in her every day.

"Any progress?" Tim asks, pulling the dress on over his head. It's sleeveless this time, more American than anything Tim's worn here. The neckline is low and it's tapered at the waist. It's hideous, actually, brown and gold, emphasizing all the ways Tim is not a woman. The previous outfits Ra's wanted him in were cut conservatively enough that Tim didn't feel the way he felt now: like a man in a dress.

Talia took another bite of something Tim assumes is a date. Then, _I've spoken with who I needed to. Arrangements are being made._

"Any chance you can be less vague?"

Talia arches a brow and says nothing. 

Tim deflates. "Right. Well, you can't blame me for asking. It's been _weeks_ , Talia. I--" He bites his tongue. _I'm afraid of what this is doing to me_. He doesn't need to say it. Talia already knows. He can see the knowledge in the way she carefully avoids eye contact.

_It will take time. I won't rush this. It's our last chance._ Then she gestures to the food.

Tim can take a hint. "I haven't been hungry lately." He pours a cup of tea and slides it closer, sitting opposite Talia. 

_You need to eat. Do it even if it makes you feel ill._ She pushes the tray toward him. _There's no room for weakness here._

Where in Tim's life _is_ there room for weakness? He can't remember the last time he had permission to just be, to feel what he wanted. To let go of responsibilities. The thought alone gives him anxiety. If Tim isn't working, if there's no mission or purpose, what's left of him? _A stupid whore_ , a voice whispers in his mind. _A squirming mess, begging to be touched_.

He'd begged Ra's to fuck his pussy only a day ago. He'd held his hole open and cried over how empty he was. The moment Ra's pushed inside him, Tim came on his cock, screaming.

_That_ is the real Tim, buried under the illusion of purpose. If nothing else, Ra's has shown him the truth. 

"The dates are good," he says after a long pause, nibbling at the end of one. His face is wet, but that's fine. 

Talia looks away. She signs, _yes, they are_.

_________

"You've been clutching that like it's a charm," Ra's tells him, leaning over to rap the top of the puzzle box with his knuckles.

"I feel better when it's close." 

He isn't lying. Tim's taken to keeping the thing with him, playing with the various moving pieces and parts. He's found several other compartments, though they've all been empty. The soft worn fabric stitched over the top panel is even more worn from Tim running his fingers over it. 

"It _is_ yours," Ra's says. "You've always been fond of it." He moves a pawn and sits back, watching Tim with sharp eyes. "Do you remember where you got it?"

Not in the slightest. Tim's tempted to be a smart ass and say _right after you killed me the second time, right in this room_ , but self-preservation wins out again. "It was a gift," he throws out, knowing Ra's' expects an answer, "from my father." He reaches out and moves the rook, taking another of Ra's' pawns. It looks like the kind of thing his dad would have brought back from one of their digs for him. He always liked to watch Tim solve puzzles. He'd laugh about how smart his kid was and say it came from him.

"For your birthday?" Ra's is watching him intently.

Tim shakes his head. "No," he says, voice going quiet. He thinks of Jack again, of missed birthdays. "Nothing like that. Just," he shrugged. "Just because." Ra's is utterly still. Tim finally says, "It's your turn, unless you want to admit defeat."

Ra's doesn't take the bait, and neither does he resume play. He reaches across the board to grab Tim's hand. "To have you with me, after all this time…" His grip is so gentle, so unlike what Tim has gotten used to from Ra's. Something in Tim's belly swoops with a low yearning, and he finds himself squeezing Ra's' hand, returning the gesture.

"You're happy here, of course," Ra's continues. His thumb strokes the top of Tim's hand rhythmically. "I can see it in your eyes, my love. You're happiest on your knees for me, aren't you?"

Swallowing audibly, Tim looks down at their joined hands. He wants to tell Ra's he hates him, that every second they spend together eats away at the core of him. Tim wants to scream and throw things, to grab the chess board and slam it over his head until he bleeds. An anger greater than he knows how to deal with cracks open in his chest, and Tim is stuck trying to hold the pieces together. If he lets himself feel it, he won't be able to go back. 

"I'm happy," he says instead, the words foul on his tongue. 

"You're even better than before. You understand your place now."

He understands that he's trapped. "I'm your wife," is what comes out of his mouth.

"Tell me you love me," Ra's demands.

"I love you." Tim wants to let go of his hand. "I won't leave you again." 

He's afraid that last part, at least, might be true.

_________

"Tell me you're getting closer," Tim begs when Talia arrives.

 _Every day_ , she confirms. 

He's dressed this time. It's a better day today. Ra's left early in the morning and didn't bother waking Tim. Tim actually slept so deeply he doesn't remember if he dreamt or not. The desert, usually so clear in his mind's eye upon waking, is a distant memory. 

Talia joins him on the bed, sitting cross-legged by Tim's feet. She puts a tray down between them, glancing pointedly at Tim.

"Yeah, all right." He picks at the food, trying to summon his appetite from where it's gone.

_We have a problem_.

What isn't a problem? "Tell me." Tim braces for the worst.

_I'm being watched. Someone knows._

Tim tries to ignore the way his gut twists. "How much do they know?"

Talia shrugs, grimacing. _Enough to watch me. Not enough to make a move._

"What can we do?" Tim picks the tray up and puts it on Ra's' side of the bed. He shuffles closer to Talia, letting his dress trail up his legs to his thighs. 

_My hands are tied. You might be able to do something._

The fear is back, worse than before. "Talia--"

But she cuts him off, chopping her hand across the air. _We are too close to stop_ , she insists. _This is something no one else can do. You must keep him distracted._

"I'm already doing that!" Tim tries not to raise his voice, but the bleeding crack in his chest is bursting apart at the seams. "I can't do any more than this!"

Talia grabs his jaw and forces Tim to look at her. Tim feels her grip and his mouth clicks shut on reflex. For a moment, it's not Talia on the bed with him but Ra's, leaning over him and pushing him back. Tim's legs spread of their own accord.

Then, suddenly, he's alone. Tim realizes he's lying back on the bed, legs spread, his skirt shucked up around his waist. He sits up in a hurry, yanking the material down, but his movements are slow and clunky. He feels like he's dragging himself through mud.

Talia, somehow, is across the room. She's looking at the door, her hands clenched fists on the table.

"Sorry," Tim says. He clears his throat, sliding his legs off the bed.

Talia waves a hand, dismissive. _I don't need to know what's happening in your mind. I need to know if you're capable of seeing this through._

"I can do it." Tim can't fail. He needs to be able to do this. He needs to be useful. "Just tell me what to do."

She watches him for a long moment, her narrowed eyes as sharp and discerning as her father's. Then, _I have a meeting with a supplier tomorrow. If I don't meet with them, we won't succeed. It's imperative that Father and his guards are elsewhere._

"I'll do what I can." Tim shifts uneasily. He thought distracting Ra's was what he was already doing. What more is there?

_Ask him to take you with him tomorrow._

"To do what exactly?" Tim still isn't sure where Ra's goes when he leaves him during the day. He's never wanted to know. 

_Follow him. Keep his attention on you. He isn't in his right mind. If you beg him to keep you with him, he won't hesitate. Use that against him._

It sounds so simple, but Tim knows keeping Ra's' eyes on him for an entire day will be an exhausting endeavor. He can already feel the phantom hands on his body, Ra's' hot breath against the back of his neck. He doesn't want to do it. 

"I'll do my best," Tim promises. He clenches his shaking hands into fists. "What time is the handoff?"

_Just keep him occupied from the moment you wake. Never leave his side until the sun is down_.

When Ra's returns that evening, Tim lays the groundwork. He doesn't wait for Ra's to come to him. When the door opens, Tim is there, already falling at his feet.

Ra's caresses his face. "Dismissed, Daughter," he says, not bothering to look at Talia. "You look weary, my love."

"I missed you," Tim lies. He leans up on his knees and mouths at Ra's' cock through his clothes. He hears Talia leave, hears the door shut. Tim doesn't let himself feel the shame bubbling up in his gut. He locks the feeling away. "I missed your voice."

"I miss you whenever we're apart," Ra's murmurs, petting Tim's hair gently. "Up, come to me."

Tim stands in one fluid motion and falls into Ra's' arms. He buries his face in Ra's' chests and clutches at the thick fabric of his robe. "I wish you wouldn't leave me so often. I can't stand the quiet."

"My Talia is not good company?"

They're treading dangerous ground now. "She's not you," Tim offers. 

Sweeping Tim up in his arms, Ra's carries Tim to the bed. "Undress for me. I'll make up for the time we've been separated."

Tim slows his breathing, willing his heart to stop racing. _Just see it through_. He pulls off the dress and hands it to Ra's. "Please don't leave me." 

The words do what Tim expects. Ra's is on him in seconds, mouthing at his neck, tugging at his nipples. "If I could, I'd keep you with me every second of the day," Ra's swears. "Keep you on my cock and carry you from room to room. Your cunt would never be empty."

Tim's body reacts, even as his mind cringes away. He's clenching down on the plug, already anticipating its removal. He wants something hot inside him, something alive and throbbing. His thighs go wider, his body begging for the things he can't bring himself to voice.

"I see what you need." Ra's reaches between Tim's legs. He grabs the plug and twists it inside Tim, thrusting it shallowly. He pulls it until the bulbous head of it stretches Tim's rim wide open. "Always begging, my beautiful whore. Always _wanting_. Where else could you get what you need? Who knows you better than I?"

"No one, nowhere," Tim babbles, frantic. "Never want anyone else inside me, need you--"

Ra's groans. He shoves himself between Tim's legs, the head of his cock catching on Tim's hole before sliding off. He grabs himself and steadies it, sliding home in one thrust. "Perfect," he growls, rutting into Tim. "You're mine, you've _always_ been mine--"

Keening, Tim tries to spread his legs wider, to get more of Ra's in him. He suddenly _needs_ , feels like he might die without Ra's filling him. Tim wants it to hurt. He wants Ra's to tear him open. He wants to feel only what Ra's gives him and nothing of his own mind.

He wraps his arms around Ra's' neck and pulls him closer, panting open-mouthed. When Ra's comes, Tim tries to clench down, to keep him inside as long as possible.

"Turn over." Ra's kisses Tim's shoulder, pulling out. "Hands and knees, my love."

Tim doesn't miss a beat. He scrambles onto all fours, hips wiggling back at Ra's. He doesn't care what's done to him as long as Ra's keeps touching him.

When the plug sinks in, Tim bursts into tears, great gasping sobs that threaten to strangle him. "No," he tries to say, but the word sticks in his throat. That's _not_ what he wants. 

Ra's shushes him, patting his hip like he's calming a frightened animal. "You don't need to come," he says gently. "You need only pleasure me. If you behave, I'll give you what you need tomorrow."

Tim collapses onto the bed weeping, his arms curling over his head. His body throbs with need, his cock heavy and wet between his thighs. "I'll behave," he blabbers between sobs, chanting the words over and over. He wants to come. He wants to come _so bad_.

A hand moves through his hair, stroking him soothingly. "I know you will, my love," Ra's coos. There's no doubt in his voice.

Tim sleeps fitfully that night. More than once he wakes up rutting against Ra's or the bed, desperate, only for Ra's to slap his ass and tell him to settle down. Tim wakes up when Ra's gets out of bed and remembers Talia's instructions.

"Please don't leave me," he whispers into the still darkness, watching Ra's pause by the side of the bed. "Take me with you. I need….."

"What?"

"You," Tim finally admits. He reaches out to grab Ra's' hand, clinging like a frightened child. "I want to stay with _you_."

Ra's is silent for so long that Tim starts to shrink back, afraid, but then Ra's pulls at his hand, tugging Tim out of bed and into his arms. "Then you'll stay with me."

_Keep his attention_ , Tim thinks. _Don't let him think about Talia_. Surely it wouldn't be that difficult? Ra's wants Tim all the time. He can't keep his hands off of Tim. 

Ra's doesn't let the servants dress him. He handles that himself, playing with the plug in Tim's ass every chance he gets. He puts Tim in a loose flowing dress with a tight bodice that sits low on his chest, nearly down to his nipples. He puts the golden headdress on Tim, adjusting the largest stone on his forehead, then he kisses Tim deeply. 

The servants shuffle out of the way, offering trays of food and hot tea, but Ra's waves them aside and guides Tim out the door. "I'm afraid you won't get the stimulation you've become accustomed to trailing after me, Beloved. If you need attention," he squeezes Tim's waist, "I'll be happy to see to you."

Tim ducks his head. Just the mention of Ra's _seeing to his needs_ makes Tim's body respond. His cock thickens. Tim pulls at the flowing fabric of his skirt, grateful for the material. He doesn't want anyone to see him, to know what his body craves. He doesn't want to know it himself.

He's led to the throne room again. Tim nearly digs his heels in when they reach the heavy wooden doors, but he forces his body into motion. He's not being carried in screaming this time, at least. Small favors.

Ra's sits Tim to his right and then proceeds to completely ignore him. A small number of men filter in and out of the room, occasionally speaking to Ra's in the local dialect, their heads bowed low in respect. Tim says nothing. He listens for anything that might indicate Talia is in trouble, but as best as he can tell, most of what is being said involves agriculture.

After a few hours, a larger group arrives, and one of the men greets Ra's in English: "My employer is pleased to see the Demon's Head so prosperous."

Ra's raises a hand slightly, acknowledging the group. Tim perks up, looking for any indication as to where they come from. Their English is without accent. They're all in suits: American? Western European, at least. They could be involved with--

Ra's drops his hand on Tim's thigh, cutting into his thoughts. "Come here," he commands Tim.

Tim glances nervously at the men. He can't mean--surely he doesn't want--

But then he sees the way Ra's' eyes narrow and scrambles to obey. He slides into Ra's' lap, his legs hanging off one side, but Ra's is quick to rearrange him. He has Tim straddle him in reverse, back to chest. Tim's skirt is pulled up at the back, the bare skin of his ass rubbing against the thick material of Ra's' clothes.

"My wife," Ra's says, undisturbed. "She dislikes being left alone." He runs his hand up Tim's thigh again.

"I can imagine," one of the men says.

Tim closes his eyes and turns his face away. He doesn't want to imagine what he looks like, but he's always been a visual thinker. He sees himself perched on Ra's’ lap, skirt ruffled, his nipples peeking out. The muscles in his legs and arms, the flatness of his chest, it all gives him away. 

The group resumes talking, but Tim can't focus in on the words. They flow around him, meaningless, as he tries to shift away from Ra's' hand as it jams between their bodies and grabs for the plug.

_Please don't_ , he wants to whisper, but he can't. He can't say no, can't do anything to anger Ra's. Somewhere in Nanda Parbat, right this very second, Talia is working to secure their freedom. Tim can endure a little humiliation.

So he spreads his legs a little wider and leans forward, breath hitching when Ra's yanks the plug out. He can feel the lube he'd fingered into Tim that morning start to seep out, and the blush burning his face begins to spread to his ears and creep down his neck.

He grabs the arms of the chair and tilts forward just enough for Ra's to get his cock in him. Then Tim sits back on it, panting. His hips squirm, but Ra's holds him in place and whispers, "Don't move. You're being disruptive. I'd hate to have to punish you again."

Tim forcibly stills himself, but he can't stop trembling. His dick is hard, tenting the front of his skirt obscenely. Tim's drooling, his hole clenching hungrily around Ra's. Finally, Tim just collapses, going limp against Ra's' chest, his head lolling back onto his shoulder. 

Ra's' arm goes around Tim's middle, holding him close. His cock is _so_ hard inside Tim, spearing up into him. The front of Tim's skirt is getting wet. He hears the back and forth negotiations but doesn't really process it, his body riding the waves of pleasure with every miniscule shift. His toes curl when he shifts _just so_ , Ra's' length nudging his prostate. He bites his lip to hold back the cry building up, but when he tries to steady himself, to flex his hips so Ra's doesn't hit him so deep, his entire body goes rigid. He cries out and comes on Ra's' cock, hole spasming.

The room goes silent. Tim's panting echoes off the high vaulted ceilings, obscene in volume. As the pleasured haze fades, he finds himself trembling again. Afraid.

"I'm sorry," he tries to whisper, but in his haste to get the words out, he pitches his voice too loud. The men all hear him and laugh.

"I'll bet she is," he hears one of them say.

"Would any of you object to a recess?" Ra's asks, ignoring Tim. His hand smooths up the plane of Tim's stomach to his chest, pausing over his racing heart, then sliding up to grab Tim's throat. He squeezes it loosely. 

No one objects. Tim looks at the men gathered around the table and tries not to think about what they're seeing. If they're taking pleasure in his humiliation. If they'd touch him, if they could.

"Ra's please," Tim begs. "I'm sorry. I tried, I'm _sorry_ \--"

Ra's stands, taking Tim with him. Tim yelps, grabbing onto the arms holding him. 

He's dumped unceremoniously onto the end of the table, Ra's cock sliding out of him with a wet slurping sound that makes the group surrounding him laugh even louder. They haven't moved, but they seem so much closer, like they're hovering over him. Tim's chest is on the table, his ass facing Ra's, so he pushes up onto his hands and looks over his shoulder.

Ra's has tucked his cock away, though Tim can still see the outline of his erection. "You can't even follow a simple command. Pathetic."

"I didn't mean to!" Tim cries.

Ra's grabs his hair and slams his face down on the table. He hits with a solid _thud_ along his jaw, rattling his teeth and making his ears ring. "No wife of mine will argue with me," Ra's says coolly. "You're mine, my love. That means I _own_ you, every part of you, down to your breath. If I will it, you do it. What part of that escapes you?"

"I'm sorry… I'll do better. I'm sorry!" Tim breathes against the table, grabbing the edge and holding on like it'll save him. The men have fallen silent, but Tim can feel their eyes roaming over him. He's not a person suffering. He's entertainment, the mid-morning show. They want Ra's to hurt him.

The first hit takes Tim's breath away, and Ra's gives him no time to pull himself together. He spanks Tim again, harder, his open palm falling where Tim's ass meets his thigh. The blows come faster after that. Tim goes up on his toes, squealing at the worst of the hits, his eyes leaking. He can't close his mouth or stifle the constant cries from his lips. 

"It hurts!" Tim cries, squirming away from Ra's, but Ra's gets an arm under his waist and yanks Tim up to his side, then hits him again.

"You deserve to hurt," Ra's tells him. His voice is calm, contrasting with the harshness of the spanking. "You know the price of disappointing me."

Sobbing, Tim finally goes limp in his grip. The pain doesn't lessen, but it's so difficult to keep fighting, to struggle. If he just accepts what Ra's does to him, it will eventually end.

When it finally does, Ra's drops Tim on the floor. He hits the ground hard on his knees, choking on a cry. Curling up into a cringing bow at Ra's' feet, Tim tries to just _shut up_ , to breathe through the pain. He imagines Talia showing up and plunging a sword through her father's heart. He imagines doing it himself.

"Get yourself together." Ra's stares down at him. 

Tim wraps himself around one of Ra's' legs. "Please forgive me," he whispers, voice thick. "I love you. Please don't hurt me anymore." He's so tired. If only Talia would tell him he can stop. He just wants it all to _stop_.

"There you are," Ra's murmurs. "If I keep peeling away the parts of you inclined to rebel, I know you'll eventually be perfect. I can only love you more the longer I have you. Never doubt that."

The meeting resumes with Tim curled at Ra's' feet, crying bitterly. He knows Ra's will do it. He's already cut away so much of Tim, gutted the pieces he didn't like and stitched together the remains. Tim will never recover from this. 

Nothing will ever be the same.

_________

Talia doesn't return for three days.

Tim is sure she's dead. Ra's doesn't say anything to indicate that, but her absence can only mean two things: she's died or she's left Tim. And Tim knows which one he'd prefer to believe.

Instead, he trails after Ra's from meeting to meeting, sitting at his feet like a well trained dog. Sometimes Ra's has Tim sit on his cock, teasing his body until he can't stop himself from coming. Then he punishes Tim, hitting him or fingering him in front of whoever is gathered. He gives Tim an enema and makes him sit through an hour long performance of a musician Tim barely notices. 

He _wants_ to hurt Tim, and Tim has no choice but to let him.

Talia arrives on a morning where Tim is too sore and exhausted to get out of bed. She stands over him, taking in the bruise along the right side of his face, the redness around his eyes. Her face goes tight.

_You succeeded_ , she signs after a long silence. _Well done._

Tim doesn't know what else to do, so he laughs. He laughs and laughs until his sides hurt, curling over and clutching his ribs. When the crying gives way to sobbing, Talia doesn't interrupt him. She sits on the side of the bed and, almost timidly, rubs his back.

"I'm sorry," Tim gasps. He's crying so hard he can barely see for the tears. "I--I--"

She taps his side in morse code: _no apologies_.

Eventually Tim's sobs taper off. He struggles to sit up, wiping at his eyes. "So you managed it," he says, voice raw. "I'm...really glad to hear it."

_I was completely unnoticed_ , Talia confirmed. _We leave tomorrow_.

" _Tomorrow_?" Tim gapes at her. He never once thought they'd be leaving, not so fast. The plan, he assumed, would come together in small pieces, like the world's largest and most frustrating puzzle, the end always just out of sight.

Talia nods, the corner of her lips quirking up. _I thought you'd like that._

"You could say that." Tim starts wiping at his eyes again. The tears are back, but for once, it's not from agony. "What's the next step?"

_I have a final supply pick up tonight. I'll bring it to you tomorrow._

"Bring what?"

_The poison_ , Talia signs. _Once you kill Father_ \--

"Wait a minute," Tim back peddles, something cold taking root in his gut. "I can't. That's not--I don't kill, Talia." 

Talia purses her lips. _This is the only way. No one else can do this. If you don't intend to kill Father, then we should both walk away from this before it gets too far_.

"Talia…" Tim shakes his head. She can't expect… But no, it's clear from the look in her eyes that she does. "There's no other way?"

She shakes her head. _One of you will die eventually. Take solace in the knowledge that his will not be permanent_.

"Fine," he says, the word hollow. It's fitting, Tim thinks, staring down at his hands. Ra's has taken everything from him. In killing him, Tim will allow him to take one more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the end! Thanks so much for reading and all the kudos/comments/etc. 
> 
> Thanks again to [xavierurban](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xavierurban/pseuds/xavierurban) for kicking this entire piece into shape.

Tim doesn't want to be a killer. 

It's just one more thing to add to the pile, one more fear to chase him in his sleep. If he kills Ra's, he will escape. If he kills Ra's, Bruce will never forgive him. The if-thens plague him, driving him to new heights of terror.

If Talia comes back, then Tim will kill Ra's.

It's….logical. Tim knows they're running out of time to act. The longer Ra's keeps them both here, the more likely it is that Talia will wind up dead and Tim will… He doesn't know. But whatever this will make of him, whatever will be _left_ of him, it won't be Tim Drake. There won't be anything left to save.

"You're distracted tonight, my love. Tell me what weighs on your mind."

_I'm psyching myself up to murder you_ isn't an appropriate response, so Tim improvises. "I'm tired. That's all. I haven't been sleeping well."

"The dreams?" If anything, Ra's looks more interested. His attention is solely on Tim. 

Tim looks at the table and the stupid candlelight dinner spread the servants brought in. The table really isn't big enough for the amount of platters they served, but Tim's afraid if he mentions it, Ra's will think he wants a new room. Tim's only just barely managed to memorize the layout of the section of the compound he's in now. Moving again would be a disaster for his and Talia's plans.

"Every night," Tim lies. "I'm afraid of them." That part isn't a lie. What they represent, the possibilities hidden within them, shakes Tim to his core. "I'd love to actually have a decent sleep and not wake up afraid for once."

"You've always been a restless sleeper, Sora. But I'm certain I can find a way to fix that."

Tim's stomach twists. "You don't need to go through the trouble. I'll be fine." He doesn't want Ra's fixing him. He doesn't even want to contemplate what that could mean.

"There is no trouble too great to endure if it's for your benefit," Ra's insists. "It will be handled. I'll hear no more of it." He says something to one of the servants who quickly leaves the room and returns with a cup of tea. He hands it to Ra's. "Drink this."

Tim takes the cup and smells the rising steam. It smells floral, a little fruity. "What is it?"

"Something to help you rest." Ra's watches him. "Drink it, my love." There's steel behind the words.

Tim doesn't dare argue. He takes a sip and finds the taste pleasant, so he gulps the rest of it down. If he thinks too hard about it, he'll panic. He can't afford to do that right now.

When he puts the cup down, Ra's reaches across the table and grabs Tim's hand. Tim looks at him and sees Ra's' face blur like a smear of paint.

"You look tired already." Ra's' voice echoes, the words overlapping. "Here, my love, let me take you to bed."

Tim can feel his hands on him, guiding him up and out of his seat. He can feel his clothes sliding off, but he can't seem to see anything. His vision swirls like a kaleidoscope. But there's no fear. No worry at all. Peace settles over Tim, hazy and warm, and he falls onto the bed with Ra's, humming with contentment.

He realizes Ra's is naked. Tim runs his hand over Ra's' chest, his eyes rolling back at how good it all feels.

"You need sleep," he hears Ra's say, voice coming at him from all directions. Tim's head is spinning.

"Let's stay like this," he hears himself beg. "It can be just like this for now, can't it?" Beneath the haze, Tim feels something. He's not sure what it is, but it makes him want to hold on to Ra's.

"You're not reacting well to this, are you?" Gentle hands stroke his face. Tim's eyes flutter closed, leaning into the attention. "It's meant to induce sleep and relaxation. Perhaps an active mind like yours isn't suitable."

"I love you," Tim says. It's what he's meant to say to that voice. "It was an accident, wasn't it?"

The hands stop. "It was. It _was_ an accident. Sora--"

The voice fades. Tim feels his body go limp, blissfully warm, as he drifts off to sleep.

Tim doesn't dream that night. He wakes up alone in bed, groggy, and for a long moment he has _no fucking clue_ where he is. By the time it returns to him, he's already sitting up in bed and looking at Talia. She's sitting at the table, a mostly empty breakfast tray in front of her.

"I slept in," Tim guesses. Whatever sleeping in means anymore. He tries to get out of bed, but he feels almost drunk. His legs are unsteady. "He drugged me."

Talia nods. _I assumed as much_ , she signs.

"I let him," Tim admits before she gets any ideas about Ra's knowing what they're up to. "He said--no, it doesn't matter. It's fine."

_I brought you something._ Talia pats her chest. _Have you made peace with what you need to do?_

That's a hell of a way to put it. "I know what I need to do. It doesn't mean I like the idea of it. Just tell me what the plan is."

Talia reaches into her shirt and pulls out a small jar from between her breasts. She glances at the door, then back to Tim, waving him closer.

Tim wraps the blanket around his naked body and gets his feet on the ground, toddling unsteadily to the table. "What's this?" He nods at the jar.

She opens it and pulls out two small opaque tubes and two small brushes, laying them on the table. One has a gold lid, the other a bronze. _Poison_ , she signs. _It's an old method, one that's fallen out of popularity in favor of slower acting methods. Once this_ , she taps the vial with the gold kid, _absorbs into the mucus membrane, the victim will die within seconds._

Tim frowns, picking up the vial. "That's great," he says, although it's definitely not. "But how am I supposed to get this to his mucus membranes? Call me crazy, but Ra's isn't the type to put his guard down."

Talia taps the second vial. _That's what this is for. It's a tincture that will protect your skin from absorbing any of the poison. You'll put it on your body and let the target ingest it directly._

"Ingest it directly," Tim echoes, blank. That needs some processing. He's going to...put the poison on his skin. And then have Ra's...suck it off. He's not sure why he's so surprised at this point. "I see."

_Once I apply it, it's only good for twenty four hours. I thought perhaps your hands._

Better than his hole, Tim guesses, but he knows his hands aren't going to work. "My chest." He gestures toward his nipples. "Ra's--he likes--"

Talia holds up both hands, waving them sharply and shaking her head. 

Right. Her dad's weird fetish isn't something she probably wants to hear about. "Sorry," Tim mutters. Like it isn't just as awkward for him. He's the one getting--

He sighs. 

_If that's where you think it will be most efficient_ , Talia signs after a moment. _Lay on the bed. I'll apply it for you. The tincture goes on first. It needs twenty minutes to dry. The poison after. It needs another thirty minutes to dry before you can move again or put on any clothes._

"How will I know if it works?"

_He'll be dead. This won't be ambiguous._

Figuring that's the best he's going to get, Tim lets the blanket fall around his waist as he returns to the bed and lays on his back. Talia stands over him, looking down at Tim's bare chest. From this angle, he can clearly see the scar on her neck, an angry red horizontal line. 

"Does it hurt?" He wishes he hadn't asked the moment the words leave his mouth. 

Talia pauses, her hand frozen mid-twist on top of the vial. She tightens it again and puts it aside. _Yes_ , she signs, her expression giving nothing away. Then, _This will go much faster if you don't speak._

Tim grimaces. "Yeah, sorry."

She picks up the vial again and opens it, then grabs one of the brushes with her free hand. When the first stroke touches his skin, Tim closes his eyes. The liquid is cool and odorless. Talia paints it over his nipples first, then covers the skin between. The lick of the brush feels like Ra's' tongue against his skin. Tim fights with his body, willing it not to respond, but he knows his cock is already hard. He's sure it's tenting the blankets, another humiliation to endure. 

The brush leaves his skin. Tim clenches his fists where they lay at his side. _It means nothing. It's just a physical response. It's not important._

A warm touch lands on his shoulder. Tim startles, looking first at Talia's hand then up the length of her arm. She's looking down at him not with pity, but with a strange understanding. When she has his attention, she signs, _Twenty minutes. Don't move._

Tim relaxes into the bed. No pity, not from Talia. He'll never be able to thank her enough for that. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He lays there, the liquid cooling on his chest, and stares at the ceiling. It's impossible to deny what he's going to do. It's equally impossible to deny how necessary it is. Tim _has_ to kill Ra's. But he's afraid. If it's easy, what does that make him? Was he capable of it before, or is this another part of him Ra's has reshaped? 

What will Bruce think?

The idea of Bruce knowing chills Tim to his core. He worked so hard to bring Bruce back. If he kills Ra's, if Bruce finds out, will he turn Tim away like he did Jason? 

He can't help but dwell on it: _Bruce won't want me anymore_ spins around and around in his head. If he doesn't have Bruce, then what's left? 

Talia taps his shoulder. _It's dry_ , she signs. _Keep still. The poison is much thinner. If it spills on the sheets, it will stain_. 

Tim nods and looks back to the ceiling. When the brush touches his skin, he sees at once what Talia means. The viscosity of the tincture kept it where the brush painted it. Somehow the poison is both thicker and runnier. Talia has to constantly paint dripping trails of it back toward Tim's nipples and to the dip between his pectorals. It takes longer for her to be satisfied, and when she's done, Tim is undeniably aroused. 

Talia doesn't glance away from his chest and face, though. She caps the second vial and returns all of the supplies to the jar which she tucks back into her shirt between her breasts. _Thirty minutes_ , she reminds him. Don't move.

Tim spends the time doing meditative breathing, trying to regain control of his body. He's surprised at how difficult it is. When he was Robin, breathing exercises were one of the first things Bruce taught him: how to control and overcome unwanted sensations. Tim's a professional at compartmentalizing, and he took to the exercises with ease. 

Now, he struggles to stay focused on them for thirty seconds. His body feels out of control, his mind out of sync. Ra's did this to him, Tim realizes. The list of ways Ra's has permanently changed him seems never ending, always growing. Tim's body is warped, like a piece of metal held to a high temperature. He'll never fit back like he used to. He'll never be whole again.

Eventually, his time is up. Talia taps his shoulder and gestures for Tim to sit up. The sheets are untarnished. She helps Tim dress, always careful not to touch him, and they spend the afternoon going over the plan down to the last detail. 

When their time ends, it isn't Ra's who comes for Talia, but a guard. He reports something to Talia. She frowns.

_Father will be late_ , she signs.

Tim's stomach drops. That's not a good sign, is it? But he can't say anything to Talia, not with the guard there. So he waves goodbye and watches the door shut. He hears the lock turn, and he's alone once again.

Tim pulls off his clothes and climbs into bed. When Ra's gets there, he'll be ready. 

He hopes he'll be ready.

________

There's a green glow coming from the tent. Tim doesn't want to be anywhere near it, but he's waiting. It's very important that he waits, though he can't for the life of him recall why. The glow is so unsettling he finally turns his back on it and looks out into the desert.

That's when something hits him.

Tim struggles against the surging weight, managing to roll off his back, but there are hands around his neck, squeezing too tight. He can't breathe. He doesn't know what's happening, but he _can't breathe_ \--

He fights against the grip, but when he manages to shove his assailant away, the desert is gone. Tim is halfway rolling off the bed in his panic, but Ra's grabs hold of him again, yanking him close.

"It's a dream, my love," Ra's soothes him, stroking Tim's hair. "Nothing but a dream."

"He was choking me," Tim pants. He's sucking in air like he can't catch his breath. "In the desert, by the Pit--I couldn't _breathe_."

Ra's runs gentle fingers against the front of Tim's neck. "It was a terrible way to die." There's a gravity in Ra's' voice that shakes Tim from his stupor. "I couldn't save you. There's nothing I regret more than how weak I was then. How pitiful."

Tim looks at Ra's and sees something unfamiliar, a pain weighing on him that Tim couldn't reconcile with the monster holding him hostage. "I don't understand," he says, hushed. 

"I knew then I could never be weak again," Ra's says. "I knew that when I found you again, I had to be capable of keeping you safe. All of these years, my love, every single second I spent without you was worth it. Without you, there wouldn't be a League. I'd be nothing."

The depth of Ra's' delusion terrifies Tim. He needs to get _out_ , to be anywhere but here. He's all at once overly aware of the poison on his chest. _Shake it off_ , he tells himself, inexplicably angry. _It was a stupid nightmare. Forget it._

"Your dream was of your first death." Ra's' words halt any other thoughts. "You were strangled in the desert, shortly after the first successful use of the Pit on a patron of mine. I hadn't realized the effect it had on most men, the madness it caused."

The dream's terror reared its head in Tim once again. _Not possible_. It was just a dream. It was just a _stupid dream_.

Had Talia told him that detail? She must have. He can't recall it now, but she must have told him about Sora's death. His subconscious mind created the dream as a response to external stressors. It's the only thing that makes sense.

Tim has to get out of here.

There's an urgency now egging him on, overshadowing his reluctance to take a life. "I'm afraid," he whispers, looking away. "You're my husband. Can't you make me feel safe?"

One step a time. He knows his part. He'll play it one last time towards its inevitable conclusion. 

If he kills Ra's, then he'll escape. 

Ra's' hand is already pulling the plug out, almost frantic. He kisses Tim forcefully, his tongue thrusting into Tim's mouth. "You're so beautiful," Ra's pants, grinding his cock against Tim's thigh. "So perfect."

Tim grabs his shoulders and spreads his legs, pulling Ra's closer. "Please, I need you," he begs. His hole is wet and empty without the plug. "Fuck me, put your cock in my pussy--"

Ra's slides home in one thrust. Tim throws his head back, pleasure building. Ra's feels so good in him. He hates how much he wants it.

A hand twists into his hair, holding Tim's head where he's thrown it back, forcing him to arch neck out. Ra's nips at the sensitive skin, working his way down the column of Tim's throat. He never stops thrusting into him, stretching Tim's hole wide. Tim can hear his own panting, Ra's' groans, and the wet squelch of his hole. He can't shut any of it out.

A little more. He's almost there. "Suck my tits," he begs, closing his eyes. _I'm going home. I'm not a murderer. I just want to go home._

He feels the touch of Ra's' tongue on his nipples and nearly comes on the spot. His hole clenches down and he mewls, legs going wider. "Harder," he murmurs, stroking Ra's’ hair. "Suck on them, want to feel your teeth--"

For a moment, nothing happens. He feels Ra's' mouth moving on him, the slick slide of his tongue over the hardened nubs. It's not working. Something is wrong. The poison is no good. 

And then Ra's stops.

Tim hears his breath rattle, a choking sound. He forces Ra's to look up at him, and the lack of resistance tells him all he needs to know.

Ra's looks at Tim, foam building against his lips. He opens his mouth to speak but doesn't get the chance. His face goes slack, his eyes unfocusing. 

"Ra's?" Tim whispers. No response. He flips them, putting Ra's on his back on the bed and sitting with his legs on either side of his hips. Ra's cock is still in him, but any pleasure he felt is gone, replaced with an unsettling sick feeling. Tim pulls off, wincing at the wet slurp, and scrambles off the bed.

Ra's is dead. He's definitely dead.

And Tim's the one who killed him.

No, there's no time to think about that. Tim hurriedly dresses in the clothes and mask Talia left for him. He grabs the doorknob, then freezes. "I'm forgetting something," he mutters. But there's nothing of importance here. Just Ra's' corpse and a room full of things he used to torture Tim. Tim turns to look at the room again, and his gaze falls on the bedside table.

The puzzle box. The gold headdress.

They aren't Tim's. They belong to some poor dead woman from centuries ago, the source of Ra's' madness. 

But Tim can't seem to let it go. He puts the jewels in the puzzle box and pockets the thing. He'll think about it later.

_Don't panic. Get to the rendezvous point._

He'll have to take out the guards posted at the door. Tim's weak from months of doing nothing but laying around and eating very little, but he can do this much. He knocks on the door, three sharp raps, and stands out of sight.

They come in as ordered, and there's no hesitation in their movements. They see Ra's collapsed on the bed, foaming at the mouth, and run to him. Tim kicks out, foot connecting with the back of the first guard's knee. He hears the break and doesn't stop, stomping down hard on his leg and unsheathing the guard's sword in time to block the blow from the other guard's blade. 

He flips around and slams the butt of the hilt into the second guard's temple. He crumples to the floor, unmoving. The other guard is back up on his good leg, but Tim doesn't give him the chance to retaliate. He swings out with the blunt side of the blade and slams it into the man's neck. He hears the guard wheeze, swaying unsteadily, then watches him fall. 

Time to go.

They weren't quiet. Guards could arrive at any second, so Tim runs, taking the blade with him. He follows the memorized layout until he reaches an unfamiliar part of the compound. According to Talia, he needs to go out the main gate to the airstrip. It's the only type of transport in and out of Nanda Parbat that doesn't involve walking out into the desert toward an untimely death.

Tim doesn't think he'll ever be able to set foot in a desert.

He leaves the sword and makes sure the mask is fixed to his face. The halls past this door will not be empty. This is where he's been trying to reach since he first woke up. If Talia isn't waiting on the airstrip for him--

Tim smothers that fear. If she left him, he'll call for Kon. He'll die before he goes back to that room. 

He opens the door, and for the first time since his death in Gotham, Tim sees the sky.

The sheer expanse of it, dark and glittering down on him, nearly brings Tim to his knees. The moon is half full and brighter than he's ever seen it.

Exhaling shakily, Tim takes a step. Then another. Then another. The door falls shut behind him, sealing away the inside of the compound. 

He made it. He's _free_.

Even in the dead of night, there's a flurry of activity. No one pays another maskless guard any mind, so Tim walks with what he hopes is confidence toward the airstrip where he can see a single plane waiting and ready. When he's within sight of the pilot, the propeller starts to spin. A red light blinks in morse code: _walk. be prepared._

As if Tim needs the reminder. He doesn't intend to screw them both over by taking off at a dead run toward the plane, no matter how much he wants to. Sweat is pouring down his neck now, his hair matted. He can't tell if it's fear or the months of inactivity. When he reaches the boarding ladder and knocks on the door, he's panting so hard he's afraid he'll pass out.

The door opens. Tim drags himself up the ladder and swings into the passenger seat. Talia looks at him coolly. The door closes.

_Strap in_ , she signs, flicking a switch on the control panel.

Tim is grateful she doesn't ask anything else. He's tired of crying in front of her. He straps himself in, but before he's done, she's already pushing the controls forward, sending the plane forward down the airstrip. He takes off the mask and looks out the window at the seemingly hundreds of men working. "No one's even noticing us," he says, looking at Talia. "How?"

She looks at him, then raises an eyebrow. It isn't until they're in the sky and the lights of Nanda Parbat are winking out of existence behind them that she hits the autopilot.

_There was a delivery scheduled_ , she explains. _I merely took over the job._

Tim has a feeling there's a dead man in the back of the plane, but he refuses to look. "Convenient."

_You succeeded. I'm impressed._

Finally, Tim's face crumples. His voice breaks when he says, "You were right. It was over in seconds." She's about to speak, but Tim cuts her off, needing to say it. "I had another dream."

_Tell me._

"I was in the desert again." Tim wipes at his eyes. "There was a Pit. I was waiting on something. And then I was attacked." He touches his neck, feeling that phantom grip. "Strangled. Ra's said I was remembering my first death. He said that's how Sora died. I don't… you told me that, didn't you? My mind must have just created the image. Stress can do a lot."

Talia frowns. _I was unaware of the specifics of Sora's death_ , she admits.

Tim goes cold. "You _must_ have told me," he insists. She had to have. It's a coincidence. It means nothing.

Her eyes slide to Tim, then back toward the stretch of sky in front of them. _There are many forces at work in this world. I don't pretend to understand them all._

Swallowing, Tim takes out the puzzle box and grips it tightly. He should have left it. It _isn't_ his. "Where are we going?" 

_Where do you want to go?_

"They're going to bring him back, aren't they?" Tim knows it's probably the first thing those guards will do when they regain consciousness, drag Ra's down to the Pit. 

_It's their way_ , Talia confirms.

Tim can't think about that. It's over. He just wants it all to be over. "Where can I go that he won't be able to find me?"

Talia shakes her head. _There is nowhere on this earth that is truly out of Father's reach_ , she admits. Then, shockingly, she adds, _I'm sorry_.

Yeah, so is Tim. "Take me back to Gotham, then. At least there, I won't be alone." He squeezes the box again, closing his eyes. "Talia...what will it take to buy your silence?" He wants to escape this, to leave it in the past and never touch on it again. He wants to know for sure the scars Ra's left on him will belong to Tim and Tim alone. Anything Talia wants, he'll give her. No price is too great.

But Talia just shakes her head. She swallows audibly, her eyes falling shut for the briefest of moments before she finally looks at Tim, _really_ looks at him, for the first time since he boarded the plane. _The price has already been paid_ , she signs.

Silence falls between them. Tim puts the puzzle box under the seat, out of sight, and discretely wipes the gathering moisture at the corners of his eyes. Neither of them speak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also BIG BIG thanks to [Mx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabrekawaii/pseuds/macabrekawaii). When I was trying to figure out Ra's' cause of death, they jumped in with the galaxy brain take 'poisoned titty sucking' and obviously I wasn't going to turn THAT down.


End file.
